


If it Must End So

by lindoreda



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo thinks they're dead, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fluff and Smut, Gold Sickness, and acts accordingly, courtship rituals, jokes about kili's crush on tauriel, not slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindoreda/pseuds/lindoreda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After hearing the last words of a fatally wounded Thorin Oakenshield, Belladonna Baggins flees Erebor before he's cold in his grave. Before he's even in his grave, really. Which, as it turns out, is a mistake, for he is neither dead nor dying, and does not appreciate having to go all the way back to the Shire to get her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Several Unexpected Parties

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically what happens when you go multiple years without writing and then an AU idea won't leave you alone. The "Bilbo thinks they're dead" idea was floating around in my head for a while, and combined with Fem!Bilbo, I thought it would be interesting to explore. The end result is not slow burn, by the way. They've been there and done that, and have the burns from Smaug to prove it. Most of the fic is already written, so it'll be updated pretty regularly, and chapter 1 and 2 were originally one chapter so expect chapter 2 soon. I'll be posting on my tumblr (lindoreda.tumblr.com) whenever I update. Enjoy!

When Belladonna Baggins of Bag End had given in to her thirst for adventure, she had little expected to return with that thirst so thoroughly quenched. The neighbors of course assumed that she would suddenly leave again, perhaps to go tramping around with Men this time, instead of Dwarves. No doubt they thought she had only returned because one of the Dwarves had left her in a “delicate condition.” Bella snorted at the thought of her complete lack of respectability. They were more right than they knew.

When Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had first seen her, and inquired sarcastically, “left your heart on the other side of the Misty Mountains, did you?” Bella had punched her in the jaw. Then, after giving Bag End a much needed dusting, and buying back all of her rudely auctioned off furniture, she had wept bitterly. It was just from the dust, she would have said, had there been anyone around to observe her. It had nothing to do with the fact that far over the Misty Mountains Thorin Oakenshield was surely lying in his grave beside his nephews.

After their conversation in the tent, Bella had made all haste fleeing Erebor. Having nursed her mother during her long illness, she could not bear to watch Thorin wither and die. She had seen, she assumed, one of his last lucid moments, and anything else that he might have said after that would not have been him talking. The healers said it would be unlikely that Fíli or Kíli would awaken at all, and so Bella had fled from the shadow of death than hung over the mountain, waiting only long enough to gather enough food to get her to Rivendell before plunging back into the wild. Today, she thought everyday. Today will be the day that Thorin breathes his last. Whenever that thought came, her hand would involuntarily stray to the bead braided into the hair on the right side of her face, the bead that she hadn’t the heart to remove.

Now, sitting in front of a cheery fire in Bag End in her patchwork dressing gown, Bella held a pair of scissors in a shaky hand, steeling herself to cut off the braid. She could just remove the bead, she told herself rationally. There was no need to cut off the braid as well. She had touched the bead so many times on her journey, surely she could bring herself to touch it one last time to unclasp it. Thorin had removed his beads and braids whenever he bathed, Bella reminded herself, smiling wryly as she remembered the odd look on the face of the elf in Rivendell who had helped her bathe. Her braid had grown ragged and uneven by then, and the elf had tried to remove the bead to redo the braid. Bella had snarled at her, and no further attempt had been made. After all, what would Thorin have said, had he known that the braid he had put in her hair had been redone by an elf?

There was nothing for it, Bella told herself. She had to cut the whole thing off. It was symbolic. It wasn’t the only proof she had of Thorin’s affection, but, having donated the others to the museum, it was the only one she saw in the mirror every day, its increasing raggedness a reminder that Thorin was no longer around to braid beads into her hair.

Yes, when Bella had set out on her adventure, she had not expected to return with a heart more wounded by loss than the one she had set out with. She had not expected to carry proof that she was a dead man’s beloved. She had not expected to cling so fiercely to that proof, even though the sight of it was like fingers digging into an open wound. Though she had always been curious and adventurous, she had also been very practical, and this was decidedly not practical.

Bella flinched as she remembered some of her less practical moments, caused again by Thorin Oakenshield. It had been winter when she reached the Misty Mountains, the worst possible time to attempt a crossing. That had not been the worst of it, though. Before crossing the mountains, she had searched tirelessly for the cliff that Azog had cornered the Company on. They had escaped by eagle after all, so she did not know where exactly it was. Once located, she had spent hours digging in the snow to find the oaken shield that Thorin had lost when the Eagles carried them away. Her feet might be thicker than the average Man’s, but her hands were not. Though she ultimately found the shield, Bella knew she was lucky to escape without frostbite. In the end, she had taken the shield to the museum, along with Sting and the Mithril shirt, unable to bear looking at it. It hardly seemed worth the trouble she had taken to find it.

Bella shook her head to clear it, and lowered the scissors. A few more days to wallow in her grief could do little harm, and keeping the braid was much less foolish than digging in the snow for a piece of wood you didn’t intend to burn. The neighbors would stare, but their stares had been less hostile since she punched Lobelia. She was eccentric, they said, but she had found a backbone, somewhere in the Wild. You had to, dealing with dwarves.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door startled Bella out of her musings. It was rather late, she thought with narrowed eyes, and her larder had not yet fully recovered from her last unexpected party. It couldn’t possibly be-

“Gandalf,” she said with a heavy sigh, opening the door to reveal a smiling wizard. “It’s a bit late for a visit,” she began, aware of her disheveled appearance and the scissors glinting ominously on her armchair.

“Never too late for a friend, surely?” Gandalf asked cheerfully, though his eyes suggested that this visit would be far less pleasant than he was letting on. Bella sighed again, and let him in.

“Can I get you anything?” Bella was nothing if not unfailingly polite. “Tea and biscuits perhaps?” She heard a distant, “Just tea, thank you,” from the entryway, and set about putting the kettle on. There had been no visitors in quite some time, she realized. This called for her best tea set.

“They are all a little offended, you know,” Gandalf began once the tea was served. Bella simply looked at him, not thinking the subject worth responding to with a mouthful of biscuits. “Did you even tell anyone you were leaving?”

“No,” Bella replied shortly. “I was hardly thinking about how they would feel when they found I was gone. I just… couldn’t stand to be there a second longer,” she finished softly.

“And so I told them. Hobbits very rarely see so much violence and death. But…” The corners of his eyes wrinkled in a smile. “You are not the same Hobbit who left the Shire.”

Bella shook her head. “That may be, but I couldn’t watch them die. I couldn’t stay in Erebor, just waiting. I couldn’t…” She hesitated, meeting Gandalf’s encouraging gaze. “I couldn’t subject them to my grief, when they have a greater right to theirs.” 

Gandalf had nothing to say to this, so he simply shook his head sadly, and sipped his tea. Bella, feeling the pull of her good breeding and desperate for a change of topic, was the one who renewed the conversation.

“How did you leave… Erebor?” She asked hesitantly, shoving more biscuits in her mouth to avoid saying any more.

“Recovering,” Gandalf answered firmly. “More dwarves return everyday to swear allegiance to the King Under the Mountain, and so rebuilding is going smoothly.”

Bella wrung her hands distractedly. “And… the Men of Lake Town? And the Elves?”

“All working together as best they can,” Gandalf confirmed. “Construction on Dale has already begun, and I believe, somehow or other, they will all learn to live with each other again.”

“I should hope so. It was always so unpleasant being caught in the middle of their quarrels,” Bella observed, taking a sip of her tea. “And to think, at one time I-” she faltered, and the knowing look in Gandalf’s eyes told her that she didn’t need to complete the thought.

“I have no doubt they would welcome you and your diplomatic efforts in Erebor,” Gandalf observed, not looking nearly as innocent as he supposed.

“I have no doubt they would,” Bella agreed lightly, tidying up the tea things. “Only, I am a Baggins of Bag End, and this is where I belong.”

“The last time you said those words, you left on an adventure the very next day,” Gandalf reminded her, but soon he was out the door again, with a suggestion that she write down her tale as it might help some, leaving Bella alone with her grief. The scissors glimmered in the failing firelight, reminding her of her cowardice, and Bella Baggins felt that today, like most days in Bag End lately, had been far too long.

The next day, Bella decided that enough was enough. Her heart was still broken, but she didn’t have to act like a hermit, as if she was trying to prove a point. Before their… disagreement, Thorin and Bella had argued good-naturedly over whose feelings were deeper. Thorin had argued that, like the stone Mahal had created them from, Dwarves were as steadfast and loyal as the mountains were unmovable, and that once they had decided on something, they could not be swayed. This, he claimed, was proof that his feelings for her were stronger.

For all the good it had done them when the gold sickness came.

Bella had found the whole argument rather silly and childish, and was surely not trying to prove that her feelings had been the stronger by the intensity of her grief. Surely not. She was a middle-aged hobbit, after all. So she put on skirts for the first time in months, braided the other side of her hair and tied both braids back, took a deep breath, and stepped out into Hobbiton. 

Bella had not exactly been hiding since she returned (her larder had been sorely empty after all), but trips outside had been infrequent, she had avoided eye contact, and consequently she received far fewer invitations these days than she had before her adventure. Not that she minded the peace and quiet, but she had nothing against her neighbors, she reminded herself as she walked briskly down the road, greeting everyone as cheerfully and politely as she could. A party or two might be just the thing to cheer her up, and the eccentric but friendly Belladonna Baggins was likelier to be spoken of kindly than “Mad Bella Baggins,” who never left Bag End.

This plan was going so well too, until Bella crossed paths with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

It had been a few months since their last encounter, so of course Lobelia’s face bore no sign of what had happened before (Bella had hoped perversely that some bruising would remain, but she hadn't hit her that hard). At the sight of her, Lobelia’s expression tightened, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Bella cut her off quickly.

“I should not have hit you before,” Bella said in a rush, hoping to head off a very public scene. “I was unwell, but this does not excuse my acting less like a gentlehobbit and more like a barmaid. I do hope you will forgive me.”

If Lobelia looked shocked at this declaration, it was nothing to the dropped jaws of the other hobbits in earshot. Lobelia recovered her composure quickly. “Apologies are owed on both sides,” she replied shortly. “You have always been… odd, but it does not do to be rude to family. I spoke out of spite, and I apologize.”

Bella could not have been more astonished. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, apologizing to her for a thoughtless remark! She wondered if Gandalf had paid her a visit. Smiling slightly at the thought, she extended her hand for Lobelia to shake. “Let’s consider the matter settled, then.”

They shook hands, and later that very afternoon, Bella found an invitation to some youngsters’ birthday party in her mailbox. She supposed then, that her plan to restore some measure of her respectability had worked. Not because anyone particularly liked Lobelia, but in forgiving Lobelia and apologizing herself, she gave the lie to the idea of “Mad Bella Baggins.” Bella Baggins was an odd gentlehobbit, living alone, taking no suitors and few visitors, but she was still a gentlehobbit, it was reasoned.

So Bella tried just a little bit harder to resume her life in Hobbiton. She spoke more than two words to her neighbors, she attended their parties and thanked them for their hospitality, and slowly, she began telling their children about her adventure.

“So there we were, at the mercy of three monstrous trolls,” she told an audience of rapt little faces. “I knew, if we could just buy time long enough for the sun to rise, they would turn to stone and we would be free.”

“So what did you do?” An eager hobbit lad demanded, and Bella looked at him quellingly.

“I was getting to that, Master Brandybuck. As I was saying, we needed to buy time, so I told the trolls that the dwarves all had parasites, and they would be sick if they ate them! They argued so much over how they were going to cook them to avoid being sick, that before long, the sun came up and turned them all to stone!”

The children laughed at this, but one little girl asked quietly, “But the Dwarves didn’t have parasites?”

Bella smiled. “Not as far as I know. But don’t you think that means you can tell lies whenever you choose. It is quite a different thing, lying to save your life or lying because you are ashamed.”

As she walked home that evening, Bella found the ring in her pocket, shame suddenly burning through her. “Lying because you’re ashamed indeed,” she muttered. “Quite a fine thing to tell the children-” she stopped in her tracks, noticing her neighbor, Hamfast Gamgee, and not wanting him to see her with the Ring.

“Miss Belladonna!” He hailed her, and Bella approached him with a good-natured smile. No doubt Hamfast had some concerns for her tomatoes.

“And how does this evening find you, Hamfast?” Bella asked politely. 

“Oh well enough, well enough, but you’re not walking home alone, are you Miss Belladonna?” He asked with such anxious solicitude that Bella wondered if perhaps she was the subject of some strange new rumor.

“Of course I am, surely there’s no danger to be found in Hobbiton!” Bella laughed, but Hamfast’s serious expression remained, and he shook his head.

“There’s talk of strange folk abroad,” was his cryptic reply. “Can’t be too careful. Why-” Hamfast hesitated. “Well, it’d do no good to worry about that now.”

Bella’s curiosity was hooked. “Worry about what?”

“Well you see Miss Belladonna,” Hamfast began immediately, and Bella smiled wryly. Didn’t need much encouragement, did he? “After you left for the party, I was heading up to tend your tomatoes you understand. Only, there was a strange man in your yard. And it weren’t no hobbit, nor wizard neither.”

Bella felt like there were chunks of ice in her veins. “One of… the tall folk?” She asked, trying to sound conversational, not terrified.

“Might’ve been,” Hamfast confirmed uncertainly. “Though he looked more like a dwarf. I figured you might’ve known ‘im, what with your-” Hamfast gestured uncertainly, which Bella took to mean ‘adventure,’ or perhaps simply ‘known association with dwarves,’ “-but rather than ask after you, he ran off when he saw me.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Bella told him kindly. “I will be a little more cautious going home.” 

Bella set off again, waving behind her at Hamfast’s “See that you do Miss Belladonna, see that you do.” Once she was far enough away, she studied the ground. Leading in the direction of Bag End, she saw the faint outline of heavy boots on the dusty track. Sometimes desperate Men would make it deep within the Shire, trying to escape the Rangers. If one had reached her smial, he was in for a rude awakening. She refused to consider any other possibility. There were no dwarves in the Shire.

With Sting in the museum, Bella took a quick detour to retrieve it, trying to say nothing that would alarm the night guard. She should tell the Rounders, as tall folk skulking around at night was a concern for all, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone. As painful as her last adventure had been, perhaps it hadn’t entirely killed her need for excitement.

She was therefore disappointed to reach Bag End and find… nothing. The footprints led to her door and away again. There was no sign of forced entry, or even rough handling of her garden. Bella lowered Sting with a sigh, pressing her forehead to the cool wood of Bag End’s front door. Perhaps she had just imagined it. It was dark, and she did not have a Dwarf’s night vision. Her mind was playing tricks on her. A natural consequence of sharing her stories: they stimulated her imagination.

“There you are,” a low, rough voice declared from behind her, and Bella whirled in terror, her heart flying into her throat as she raised Sting in what she hoped was a threatening manner. Mere inches from Sting’s tip, Bella saw the face that had haunted her dreams for months: Thorin Oakenshield, positively apoplectic with rage. So she did the only rational thing to do when confronted with completely improbably Dwarf ghosts (for, didn’t dwarves return to stone when they died?): she flung open the door to Bag End, darted inside, and slammed the door in his face.

“No thank you,” she squeaked from the other side of the door. “We don’t want any wraiths, wights, or ghosts of Dwarven Kings here!”

“And what about living Dwarven Kings?” He asked, sounding a bit less angry than he had looked.

“That would be… different,” Bella allowed quietly, opening the door a crack and peering out. Whatever rage he had carried before had clearly dissipated. Piercing blue eyes looked back steadily, and Bella fought back tears. He looked the same as he had the day he had appeared on her doorstep, except perhaps a touch greyer. Perhaps a little leaner. And that outfit had been destroyed in so many ways, it could not be the same one. Surely not. 

“If you are not dead, perhaps I am, because this cannot be,” she murmured in disbelief, and would have fallen to her knees had Thorin not hurriedly crossed the threshold and caught her. The sudden contact startled her, and the tears burst forth.

“They said the wound was mortal!” She blubbered as he led her into her armchair, Thorin kneeling in front of it. “That I would most likely be hearing your last words! To forgive you so that you could pass in peace!”

Thorin flinched at that, and Bella quieted to allow him to explain. Something told her it was going to be a long night.


	2. Fried Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked and answers are given, in a rare display of communication that doesn't involve shouting. Also, breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the promised chapter 2! Because of some transition issues, it's about twice as long as most normal chapters, so enjoy it while it lasts! After this one, I expect to update every 3 days or so. I've really appreciated the response so far, and it's given me the drive to do some of the harder editing, so hopefully better chapters will be the result.
> 
> I forgot to say last chapter, but thanks to the lovely Niffstral, my eternally patient beta-reader, for always fighting the good fight against my comma-related abuses.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, had hovered between life and death for weeks. He would wake often enough to be fed solid food, and then he would slip back into a sleep that resembled death. Each time, none could say if he would awaken again, and each time he awoke and asked for his nephews and Bella. Of his nephews, pleasing intelligence could be given, as they were recovering surprisingly well, but of Bella, all they could say was that she had fled into the wild, and not been seen since.

When he finally rose from the sickbed, it was clear to all that rage alone had pulled him through. She must not have truly forgiven me, he thought to himself. How dare she lie to me again, and abandon me at my sickbed. In the end, her love was the weaker. That the greater part of his anger was at himself for creating this situation, he could not yet acknowledge gracefully. And so, after determining that his nephews were indeed as well as he had been told, Thorin put Fíli in charge and set forth into the wild after Bella, determined to give her a piece of his mind, forgetting of course (or perhaps ignoring) that even if she had lied about forgiving him, she had every right to.

He made it to Rivendell before he had really stopped to think. He had not intended to stop there, but an encounter with Gandalf, who was clearly not in a mood to be gainsaid, brought him once again to the last Homely House.

“She is convinced you are dead,” Gandalf had announced with no preamble, after they had been settled in their rooms.

“You have seen her then,” Thorin replied gruffly, a little jealous of the Wizard.

“I have, and though she has been home for weeks, she still looks like she came off the road yesterday,” Gandalf told him in alarm. “Thorin, she is in deep mourning. If you show up at her doorstep, demanding to know why she left, she is likelier to stab first and ask questions later.”

“If she had stayed, there would have been no need to mourn,” Thorin pointed out mulishly.

“Thorin Oakenshield!” Gandalf boomed suddenly. “Belladonna Baggins nursed her mother through a long illness, only for it to end in her death. When Balin told her that you were dying, she believed him, and did not want to be there to see it. She wanted her last memory of you to be your apology to her.” Gandalf’s expression softened. “She is still wearing your braid.”

Thorin started at this. “But I put that in-”

“Before you banished her, yes,” Gandalf agreed. “As we spoke, sometimes her hand would move towards it, before she realized what she was doing.” 

Thorin stared uncomprehendingly at the moon. “She truly believes I am dead.”

“Yes, though I am sure that is not what Balin intended. No doubt he thought exaggerating a little would make her likelier to forgive you, and that a miraculous recovery was just what was needed to soothe any injured feelings. None of them had any idea that she would leave without saying anything,” Gandalf explained gently.

“Fíli and Kíli were convinced she had died in the wild, or been kidnapped by orcs, and they tried to come with me,” Thorin murmured, the story finally adding up in his mind.

“Balin lied to me?” Bella interrupted. “Because he thought I wouldn’t forgive you?” She blanched. “Fíli and Kíli thought I was dead?”

“So Gandalf and my nephews said,” Thorin agreed. “Though I admit I forgot all that when I saw you, wearing skirts, with flowers in your hair. I thought perhaps Gandalf was the liar, until you nearly skewered me and slammed the door on me.” There was a soft smile on his face now, and it set warm butterflies flapping around in her stomach.

“I was trying to move on,” she replied quietly, desperately not meeting his eyes. “But then Hamfast, my gardener, said he saw a strange man in my yard, and I saw bootprints in the dirt, and thought perhaps… a burglar,” Bella explained, flushing scarlet.

Thorin chuckled, and her blush deepened. “No common burglar was going to take the Master Burglar Belladonna Baggins unawares.”

Bella met his eyes then, her hand straying to her thoroughly ragged braid. “Bella, please, Thorin,” she reminded him. “Calling me Belladonna reminds me of-” She stopped, unwilling to spoil a lovely moment with that memory. Thorin simply nodded, the memory more than he wanted to think about right now, his eyes following the path of her hand, which stilled when she noticed him watching. Slowly, he reached out and took the braid in his hand, eyes growing wide at the proof of Gandalf’s words. Bella was reminded of when he had put it in originally, and remembered thinking it was a surprisingly intimate gesture.

“You kept it,” he breathed, his eyes gleaming with warmth. Then, with a slight quirk of his lips, “it looks terrible.”

“I tried to take it out dozens of times,” Bella admitted. “I even tried cutting it off the night Gandalf came. But in the end, I never could.” She felt a little self-conscious about how disheveled it made her look. Thorin looked as perfectly groomed as ever, though her heart thudded painfully in her chest when she realized that he had evidently removed the braid that matched hers. He had probably done it after casting her out, she realized. They had parted on bad terms, and she certainly had no wish for his love at that time. But still, it hurt to think that she had gone out in public looking so shabby for such a man.

“Someone took it out when I was unconscious,” Thorin told her suddenly, guessing the subject of her sudden consternation. “They saw my anger, on waking, at your absence, and assumed I would thank them for removing another memento of yours from my sight.” He reached into a pocket, revealing the matching bead. “They were mistaken. I will not ask if you will braid it back in tonight. It would be unworthy to take advantage of your surprise. But,” Thorin hesitated, found something encouraging in her eyes, and continued. “I intend to stay in the Shire for a time, and truly earn the forgiveness I demanded, and which you gave because you thought I was on death’s door.”

The hand on her braid tightened, and Bella knew when she felt Thorin’s fingers running through her hair that he had taken back his bead, and undone her braid. With his other hand, he pressed the matching bead into her folded hands.

“You don’t have to grieve for me anymore, mizimel,” he told her firmly, and Bella remembered how much she liked Khuzdul when it came from his lips. “I will ask you to court me again, and then you will never have to-”

Bella cut Thorin off with a finger to his lips. “Why do you dwarves have to over complicate everything, when a simple apology will do?”

“For a dwarf, this is a simple apology, unless you would rather I cut off my beard,” Thorin replied gravely.

Bella huffed irritably, but without conviction. “Confusticate and bebother all dwarves. Why can’t I just be happy you’re alive, âzyungel?” Bella took the unfamiliar word slowly, remembering Balin’s lessons on pronunciation. Thorin flushed at the endearment, which certainly did not render him less handsome, Bella observed with a smile.

This was all rather too much for Thorin, who had practically run halfway across Middle Earth to demand why his Hobbit had not been there when he woke up if she truly forgave him, only to find her collapsing into tears at the sight of him, certain that one of them were dead. To see her now smiling and speaking endearments in Khuzdul was more than his whiplashed heart could bear. He rose swiftly and tried to make for the door, but Bella grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Thorin? What’s wrong?”

“It’s late, and I came without warning. I should leave you now, and find an inn,” he replied without looking at her, though this did little to hide the slight flush she detected on his ears.

“Nonsense, you know from last time that there is more than enough room here,” Bella insisted firmly. “The guest room is entirely at your disposal.” Thorin looked ready to object, but Bella gave him a quelling glance. “Don’t you dare try to tell me it wouldn’t be proper. If I remember correctly, we were very rarely separated by walls on the road. And I could hardly refuse to show a King my hospitality,” she reminded him, emphasizing the word carefully. “We certainly have no inns in the Shire suitable to the task.”

Against this all-out barrage of Hobbity logic, Thorin could not long resist, and so, he suffered himself to be led to the dusty guest room, watching absently as Bella stripped the dusty sheets, filled the empty water pitcher, and generally bustled about in a pleasant domestic way. He smirked when he realized that she was doing all this with Sting still hanging from her hips, as if she had forgotten the sword was there. He tried (and failed) not to watch too closely as she bent over the bed to remake it with fresher sheets. This pleasant show was interrupted suddenly when Bella turned to look at him with a frown, her eyes settling on his boots. 

“After all the damage your nephews caused with their thrice-cursed boots, and you didn’t take yours off!” She exclaimed.

“I was going to leave,” Thorin reminded her, trying to remember if Bella had forced them to remove their shoes last time. Not that she was in control of that situation, he admitted reluctantly.

“Well now that you are not leaving, I must ask that you remove your boots, Master Dwarf,” Bella replied doggedly. Thorin wisely chose not to make an argument out of it. The boots came off. “Now, can I get you anything before I turn in? Tea, perhaps? Oh, but perhaps you have not eaten! I didn’t even consider it, I shall make something right away!” And so Bella would have done, had Thorin not stopped her in much the same manner as she had stopped him earlier.

“Bella, I require nothing. Go to bed. I will still be here in the morning.” He said it firmly, but the softness in his eyes betrayed his understanding: Bella thought this was a dream. But if it was a dream, it was a very pleasant one, so she bade the now barefoot Thorin goodnight, and retired to her room. It was only when she leaned heavily against the door and heard Sting’s sheath clack that she realized she was still carrying it. Bella sighed and rubbed her temples. Thorin had been in her home for less than an hour, and already she was behaving in a most unHobbitlike fashion. What would the neighbors say?

Bella froze. What would the neighbors say when they saw a dwarf leaving Bag End, when they had not seen him enter? More importantly, did she care what they would say? Thorin was alive. Thorin was alive, and (presumably) half-naked on the other side of the wall. Thorin was alive, half-naked, and determined to court her properly this time. What did it matter what the neighbors thought?

\-----

Bella rose early the next morning, feeling truly refreshed from sleep for the first time in a long time. It wasn’t until she saw the heavy boots by the front door that she remembered why. Bella peered down the hallway cautiously. There was no other sign of Thorin, and no sound from his room, so presumably he was still abed. Determination swelled within her to make such a delicious smelling breakfast that it would seep into his dreams. So she did what Hobbit wives and mothers have done from time immemorial: she fried bacon. And eggs, pancakes, toast, and sausages, until she wondered if maybe this was too much food for two people.

Nevertheless, her efforts were soon rewarded with the appearance of a drowsy, barefoot Thorin, in the fewest layers of clothing she had seen since their misadventure in the woodland realm. His hair however, remained immaculate. Bella tugged at her unruly curls absently as he sat down heavily at the kitchen table, only a little jealous.

“That smells delicious, ghivashel,” Thorin yawned, and Bella wondered if she had ever seen him so relaxed. Still, it was necessary to tease him.

“Oh, I see how it is to be. Last night I was a jewel, and now I am treasure? You said you wanted to court properly, but you seem to be relying heavily on flattery,” she observed archly, setting a full plate before him. “And this meal is free, in the future I expect you to help me.”

“Proper courting doesn’t usually involve spending the night,” Thorin pointed out with a mouthful of bacon. “Not among dwarves anyway. I cannot pretend to understand your Hobbit ways.” Bella pursed her lips. Oh, he would help cook. Feigning cultural ignorance could not save him from that.

“Hobbits never see their suitors unchaperoned until marriage,” Bella replied tartly. “But as I am middle-aged, and you are… at least that,” she finished hastily after a half-hearted glare from Thorin, “not to mention a King, I think we can dispense with those kinds of formalities.”

Thorin swallowed, grinning wolfishly. “Formalities? Are you implying they are not generally observed?”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Thorin, you have a sister. I have not met her, but she obviously had children, and as their legitimacy has never been questioned in my hearing, presumably she was married to their father. Are you saying you never had the misfortune of finding them together when they should not have been?” A haunted look passed over Thorin’s face briefly, and Bella had her answer. “Which reminds me,” Bella continued, and Thorin shoveled more food into his mouth to avoid an immediate answer. “Did you come all this way alone? I wouldn’t have thought a King could do that.”

Thorin swallowed heavily, and looked away guiltily. “I only told Fíli and Kíli that I was leaving, and I instructed them to keep it a secret for as long as possible.”

“So expect Dwalin any day then.” Thorin nodded unhappily, and Bella huffed. “Thorin, you’re King now. You can’t just run halfway across Middle Earth on a whim.”

“‘S not a whim,” Thorin objected thickly. 

“You could have invented some kind of diplomatic pretense,” Bella continued undeterred. “Now, as soon as Dwalin gets here, he will drag you back like an errant child.” Her expression softened. “It means we have less time to figure this out.”

“I had not thought about it that way,” he admitted.

“So if our time is limited, I don’t have time to dance around this question,” Bella continued, her good breeding rebelling at the notion of asking such a direct, personal question. “Are you still affected by… the Arkenstone?”

“No.”

Bella looked up from her plate, started. He had answered so quickly, with such conviction. There was no hesitation in his eyes, either.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. Nothing in that treasure hoard has any power over me anymore,” Thorin confirmed, reaching across the table to grab her hand. “As a precaution, we cast the Arkenstone back into the abyss from whence it came, but I could not have traveled so far from it if it still controlled me.” His eyes blazed with emotion, and Bella’s heart pounded so loudly in her chest at the intensity of his gaze, that she almost missed his next words: “I thought only of you.”

“Eat your breakfast, you silly dwarf,” Bella replied tartly, looking back down at her plate in a useless effort to hide her very red face.

Thorin did as he was bid, but with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and without releasing Bella’s hand. Eating one-handed was awkward, but… Thorin was here. Thorin was alive. Thorin still loved her. For the moment, nothing else mattered.

Until the neighbors came. They came in a steady stream, all wanting to know if Bella was well, because they had seen strange bootprints leading to her door, and that was usually when they would notice the boots that made the prints sitting by the door, and their owner seated at the kitchen table. Bella had no doubt all of Hobbiton would soon be aware of her unusual visitor, and this fear was confirmed when, after a lull in well-meaning neighbors, Lobelia made her appearance. Childishly, Bella flattened herself against a wall, and hissed at Thorin: “I’m not at home!”

“You have slain orcs and snuck prisoners out of Mirkwood,” Thorin reminded her with a raised eyebrow. “What do you have to fear from another neighbor?”

“Keep your voice down! I did those things because I had to, and I do not have to face the disapproval of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.” Thorin gave her a look, and Bella sagged. “Fine. She’ll probably have an earful for you as well.”

When Bella opened the door, it was clear Lobelia was ready to start in on a tirade, but something about Bella startled her. “You look rather well, Belladonna,” she said instead, and this startled Bella into civility.

“Why thank you Lobelia, but surely you did not come all this way just to say that.”

Lobelia looked uncomfortable now. “No, I did not. When I heard that you had a dwarf as a houseguest, I thought I needed to do my duty by the family, but…”

Bella glanced at Thorin, the thundercloud gathering on his face confirming her fear that he had not liked the way Lobelia had said dwarf. “Thorin, nabir,” she said firmly, not certain the usage had been grammatically correct, but hoping it got the message across. She waited until Thorin turned back to his breakfast before encouraging Lobelia to continue. “But?”

Lobelia sighed. “But when I see you looking so happy… I will speak on your behalf to anyone who would object.” And with that, Lobelia turned and left, leaving a very confused Bella on the doorstep.

“I must have looked very bad indeed before you arrived for Lobelia’s opinion to change so quickly,” she mused, returning to the kitchen table to tidy up, only to find Thorin washing the dishes.

“You did not look yourself,” was all he would say on the subject, and Bella set to drying the dishes he had already washed. After a companionable silence (in which Bella took advantage of Thorin’s distraction to stare openly), Thorin set down the dish rag, and looked at her in amusement. “How much Khuzdul did Balin teach you?”

Bella suddenly found a spot on the plate she was cleaning required a great deal of attention. “Some,” she replied evasively. “Balin thought a few words and phrases wouldn’t be-”

“You asked him, didn’t you.” It was not a question. Bella steadfastly refused to meet Thorin’s eyes.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“When?”

“After the Carrock,” she told him softly. “When you said that you had been wrong about me. I wanted to surprise you again. So I asked Balin.”

“You could have asked me.” Bella could feel Thorin’s eyes boring a hole into the top of her head. “That would have surprised me.”

“One doesn’t ask the King to give lessons,” Bella replied in her best don’t-you-know-anything voice. “He has more important concerns, like glowering and exchanging insults with other Kings.”

“And being teased by cheeky Hobbits, apparently,” Thorin observed with a laugh. Had Thorin ever laughed this much before?

“As I recall, you came all this way to see me,” Bella reminded him, looking up with a grin. “Regretting it now?”

“Never,” he replied firmly, and Bella had to look back down to avoid being scorched by the intensity of his gaze.

“Well, that is quite enough of that,” she declared with equal firmness, setting aside the washing. “If you are trying to win me over simply by smouldering, it will not work.”

“ “Win you over”? I thought you had already forgiven me?” Thorin’s expression was all innocence, and Bella’s eyes narrowed.

“This and that are entirely different matters. I may have forgiven you for being cruel, but that does not mean my allowing your courting to succeed is simply a matter of course.” Bella was a bit disgruntled that this speech did not seem to worry Thorin in the least.

“Then I must be sure to do this properly,” Thorin decided, that small smile unmoving. “How is courting done among Hobbits?”

“W-well,” Bella stammered, uncomfortable being put on the spot, “you might express interest by giving flowers, then asking for a dance at a party, and I suppose if you receive encouragement, you speak to their family.”

“So little?” Thorin raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“The Shire is a small place, everyone knows everyone else,” Bella explained. “By the time you start courting someone, you have known them and their entire family for years, and have a decent idea of how your feelings would be received.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Not that you have a right to talk about how “little” is involved with Hobbit courting, unless by Dwarf standards you rather neglected me.”

Thorin suddenly found himself engrossed in putting the dishes back into the cupboard. “There was no guarantee that any of us would make it out alive-” he began placatingly, but Bella interrupted him sharply.

“You said we were engaged.” Thorin would not meet her eyes, which he knew burned with cold fury.

“And we were engaged. I simply… skipped a few steps, because I didn’t want you to leave when Erebor was reclaimed,” he admitted softly.

“And then you threw me out,” she spat, and Thorin flinched.

“And then I threw you out,” he agreed, eyes downcast.

Bella sighed heavily. “I am going to go into my study. I am going to write, and hopefully calm down. When I come out, you will explain dwarven courting.”

“If that is what you wish, ghiva-”

“No, no, no khuzdul endearments, or I will think you are trying to take advantage of... my surprise,” Bella interrupted firmly, and disappeared down the hallway. Thorin waited until he was certain she was out of earshot to bury his face in his hands. Why was it, that when it came to Belladonna Baggins, he was worse than a stripling?

As it turned out, writing was not the solution to Bella’s problem. She had been trying to turn her adventure into a book for some weeks, but in her current frame of mind, perfectly ordinary sentences would turn into “Thorin Oakenshield was particularly unpleasant to me that day,” and after destroying more than a few pages because they read like the diary of a Hobbit lass in their tweens, Bella gave up. The last time she had tried to write when Thorin had been very much on her mind had been on the journey, and it had come out rather too close to erotica for her comfort. Hobbits did not write erotica, thank you very much. Elves did, as she had found in some of the dustier corners of Rivendell, but not Hobbits.

From a purely intellectual perspective, Bella wondered how dwarven erotica would vary from that of other races. From an intellectual perspective only, of course.

Bella shook her head despairingly. She could not stay mad at Thorin. When they had met, he had been a King in exile, making a last desperate attempt to right old wrongs. He had probably never expected to feel anything other than disdain for the Hobbit burglar that his company had home-invaded. His judgment would have been… impaired.

And now she was making excuses for him. Bella huffed irritably. It was good that Thorin had been restrained last night, or he could have asked for the world, and she would have given it gladly. Things had been so much simpler when he was dead.

“Thorin-” Bella began, returning to the kitchen in defeat, but the sight in front of her stopped her dead. Thorin stood in the kitchen where she had left him, but he had clearly not stayed there. His bare feet were encrusted with dirt, there were leaves in his hair (Bella longed to reach out and pick the leaves out, but touching his hair seemed like too intimate a gesture if she was going to pretend that she was considering rejecting him), and in his hands… had Thorin gone digging in her garden?

“Your gardener assured me these flowers were suitable for expressing interest in courting,” he said without preamble, offering them to her. Bella accepted them with shaking hands, making a mental note to thank Hamfast later. The flower in the center was a purple hyacinth, an apology, surrounded by red camellias, a declaration of love and desire. As a bouquet, it was not particularly well-composed, but it was practical and to the point, like Thorin.

“Where did you go to find them?” Bella tore her gaze away from the unexpected gift to appraise Thorin’s appearance again. Had he fallen in a bush?

Thorin ran a hand through his hair distractedly, looking a little uncomfortable. “I may have been… rooting around in the hedgerows until your gardener found me. A fortunate accident, for I have no knowledge of flower meanings, and could have given you something inappropriate, he informed me.” Bella smiled, breathing in the sweet smells of the flowers. She really couldn’t stay mad at Thorin, when he did things so earnestly.

The dirt and leaves hadn’t rendered him any less attractive, either, which helped.

Bella busied herself finding a vase. If he saw her blushing, he might think he was winning. “Thank you, Thorin,” she said softly with her back turned.

“Do you still want to know how Dwarves court?” Thorin asked, feigning unconcern. Bella smiled, and having arranged the flowers in the vase, set it in the middle of the table.

“Of course. Even if I did not have a personal interest, I have a cultural one,” She reminded him lightly. Then, deciding against her better judgment, “Sit with your back to me while you talk. I’ll get those leaves out.” 

Thorin hesitated very briefly. Bella knew about Dwarves and their hair. She knew what she was asking. So there was no reason not to accept.

Bella began tentatively at first, determined to only remove the leaves. Nothing else. But, she soon found herself running her fingers through his long, silky locks, and it wasn’t until she realized it had been minutes since she started and Thorin had remained silent that it occurred to her that he might be a little distracted.

“I’m sorry, should I stop?” She asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

“No.” Thorin’s voice seemed oddly rough. “I was just… surprised by your boldness.”

“I have slain orcs and giant spiders, but this is bold?” Bella demanded, amused.

“There is a reason we carry proof of engagement in our hair,” he reminded her. “But I am getting ahead of myself. The first step of courting is gift-giving. The interested party, be they man or woman, offers a gift to demonstrate both financial stability and an eye for quality,” he began, anticipating what her questions would be. “It might be argued that the mithril chainmail I gave you qualifies.”

Bella conceded this point with only a soft grumble. “After the unnecessarily expensive gift?”

“After the necessarily expensive gift,” Thorin continued, “traditionally both parties make something, to demonstrate that you have a worthwhile skillset.”

“Even Kings?” Bella asked curiously, working a knot out of Thorin’s hair.

“A King who cannot make anything is not suited to rule a race of builders and crafters,” Thorin said matter-of-factly. “I may have… skipped this step,” he admitted. “There was little time to make anything once I decided…”

“Decided to stop looking at me like a lovesick puppy and actually do something about it,” Bella supplied with equal matter-of-factness. 

“Kíli looked like a lovesick puppy. I-” Thorin began indignantly.

“Look a great deal like Kíli will in 100 years, but still a lovesick puppy,” Bella interrupted, braiding Thorin’s hair absently.

“Do not think, Mistress Burglar, that I did not notice you staring longingly in my direction on some nights when you thought I was asleep,” Thorin retorted, and Bella tugged his hair a little harder than necessary in retaliation.

“After the handmade items,” Bella demanded firmly, “what happens?”

“If you receive a handmade item in return, it means your suit is accepted, and at that point you exchange beads. It is not so much more complicated than your ways,” Thorin allowed.

“But because you have to make something, it takes longer,” Bella surmised. “But what if you don’t really know the person you want to court?”

“Then you wait until you know them better, because you’ll be carefully watched once courting,” Thorin supplied with a shrug. “Though it is true our women rarely leave the mountain, we bring them up alongside our young men, with little distinction in labor divisions or anything else. They are hardly kept secluded, forced to court men they barely know.”

Bella made a noncommittal noise, and sat back to look at her handiwork. Braiding was perhaps not one of her better skills, but Thorin would probably object more to the quantity of braids than to the quality. “I suppose we may count the mithril shirt, but I am expected to make something as well for the next stage, am I not?”

“Only if you intend to accept, so perhaps our next step should be one of your people’s,” Thorin allowed, a bit too graciously if Bella had been thinking of more than what his reaction to the state of his hair would be. “Dancing at a party, you said?”

Bella blanched. To do that, she would have to take Thorin to a party first, which meant introducing him to her neighbors and relatives, possibly explaining why she was suddenly not disheveled and mourning…

“That might not be a good idea,” Bella muttered nervously.

Thorin shifted in his seat, turning to face her. “You are not ashamed of being seen with me?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, of course not,” she rushed to assure him. “It’s just that…” Bella ran a hand through her hair to give herself more time to think. “Everyone I know saw me come back from journeying looking like a complete mess, and it took months before I was less of one. And if Lobelia’s words earlier are to be believed, I transformed overnight when you appeared, and after that string of visitors, everyone else knows that too.”

“I am not seeing the problem,” Thorin admitted, examining Bella’s handiwork wryly.

Bella sighed. “Now the whole Shire knows I’m in love with a Dwarf, and if I take you to a party as my plus one, there are going to be a lot of impertinent questions.”

“What kind of impertinent questions?” Thorin asked without much concern.

“Questions about why I came back here clearly heartbroken, and why it took you so long to follow, for example,” Bella replied heavily. “Questions about why you let me travel all that way alone. Questions about…” Bella flushed. “...Dwarven endowments.”

“I suppose I can understand questions about how much gold I have, but-” Thorin began, and it occurred to Bella that maybe he didn’t know it was a double entendre in Westron.

“They may ask you about that too, but when I said endowments, I meant…” Bella paused before making a crude gesture.

There was the barest hint of a smile in his eyes when he spoke. “I had not expected such glibness from Hobbits.”

“Yes, well,” Bella coughed, rather pink. “In their eyes, I have been hiding an attachment for some time, which is not generally done. They will feel justified teasing me a little.”

Thorin covered her hands with his gently. “I believe I can handle a little impertinence.”

“Without glowering, or just generally making yourself unpleasant?” Bella met his eyes steadily to indicate that she was not joking.

Thorin had to fight not to roll his eyes. “Hobbits are not Elves. I was taught basic civility, you know.”

“I have seen little to suggest you are skilled at diplomacy, so you will have to forgive me for making assumptions,” Bella replied tartly.

“Mahal save me from the grudges of Hobbits,” Thorin muttered, almost inaudibly.

Bella said nothing to this, her mind already in a whirl of planning. One of the Took girls was having a birthday party tomorrow, she remembered, and as a Took on her mother’s side, the invitation had come almost immediately. She would have to speak to whichever Aunt whose daughter’s birthday it was, but it should be easy enough to secure an invitation for Thorin. But what would he wear? She had no doubt he had packed extremely lightly, and in any case dwarven attire was a bit too ostentatious for a Hobbit birthday party. Not that there was much choice, she reflected, resigned. Nothing in a Hobbit shop would fit him, with his broad chest and shoulders. She would have to figure something out from what he brought.

Thorin, utterly unaware of the turn of Bella’s thoughts (though her intense focus on the neckline of his tunic suggested that she was not paying attention), had not released her hands, and had moved from passively holding to actively caressing. Her complete lack of reaction inspired him to explore more thoroughly, rubbing his thumbs along the surprisingly thick calluses on her fingers (from Sting? Surely gardening couldn’t cause calluses like this). Bella remained unresponsive until his curious thumb brushed across her wrist, causing her to jump out of her seat like a startled cat. Thorin, expecting to be scolded, assumed an innocent expression that reminded Bella of Kíli, but Bella had more important matters to deal with.

“Show me all the clothes you have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> mizimel: jewel of all jewels
> 
> âzyungel: love of all loves
> 
> ghivashel: treasure of all treasures
> 
> nabir: warning


	3. A Short Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the head just gets in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words! I actually finished my first draft of the last chapter today, so updates will continue to be fairly quick. Thanks again to Niffstral for betaing!

Bella’s Took aunts had all been unusually delighted to oblige, she reflected bitterly. The whole Shire must be atwitter with the news that the previously thought to be “shelved” Belladonna Baggins had a Dwarf lover staying in her home. Bella rubbed her temples tiredly. These attempts to make things more difficult for Thorin were backfiring miserably. She had forgiven him any wrongs months ago (well, maybe not completely, but he didn’t need to know that), why keep playing this game?

She saw him smoking on the bench outside Bag End and remembered. He looked so at peace sitting there, his sleeves and pant legs rolled up, his hair full of strange braids (he had not taken them out, Bella observed with a wry twist of her mouth) looking down on Hobbiton with a small smile. If she ended the game now, told him how she felt and agreed to return to Erebor, would she ever see this Thorin again? Here, he was Thorin Oakenshield, Bella’s strange Dwarf guest. In Erebor, he was Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain. If Thorin’s stress level on the journey was any indication, King Thorin was rarely relaxed. Bella wanted to soak it all in, before responsibility returned and made a King and Queen of them.

So Bella sat down beside Thorin, drawing out her own pipe and allowing Thorin to light it. She glanced around quickly before inhaling, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Are you being followed?” Thorin asked seriously, and Bella laughed, the smoke exploding out of her mouth in a rush.

“No, nothing like that,” she assured him. “I was always taught it was unladylike to smoke, so checking to see if anyone was watching became a habit.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “That never stopped you during our journey.”

“There were no other Hobbits around, and I had a hard time imagining a race whose women are nearly identical to their men even having a notion of “ladylike,”” Bella replied primly, puffing at her pipe all the while.

Thorin considered this. “Ladylike might be causing one’s opponent to have a lingering death, rather than a quick, clean one,” he declared grimly, and only the slight upturn of his lips told Bella he was joking. 

“I live in fear of meeting your sister when you make comments like that,” Bella told him with a laugh.

Thorin sobered quickly. “It is possible she may kill me when I return. I am confident Fíli can handle things, but…”

“But running off as you did does not inspire confidence in the line of Durin,” Bella concluded for him. “Not unlike what my sudden flight from Bag End did for the Baggin’s family name.”

“Dealing with your Aunts was not difficult, I trust?” Thorin asked, masterfully changing the subject.

“My Aunts are Tooks. They’ve always been a little odd, but nothing I can’t handle,” she assured him. “You will be welcome at the birthday party, and Hobbiton will have enough to gossip about for another day.”

“And what will they say?” The idea of being gossiped about only seemed to amuse Thorin more, as Bella watched his smile grow fractionally.

“I imagine they will say that Belladonna Baggins was such a confirmed spinster that only a Dwarf would have her,” Bella replied sourly, irked by how little he was bothered. “I should have brought you along.”

“I thought you had doubts about my diplomatic talents,” Thorin reminded her with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t say I would bring you along to talk,” Bella replied with a wicked grin. “Simply seeing you would be enough to change the tone of the rumors, I believe. ‘Belladonna Baggins goes into the wild with Dwarves and comes back with a surprisingly handsome one, if you like long hair and muscles.’ A much more pleasant story,” she decided with a nod and a satisfied puff of her pipe, not noticing the slightly unsettling look Thorin was giving her immediately. “What?”

“Do you?” Thorin had set his pipe down, and was watching her intently.

“Do I what?” Bella demanded.

“Like long hair and muscles.”

Bella tried very hard not to roll her eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure if she had succeeded. “They’re alright I suppose, well enough in the right proportions- Thorin, you asked me to marry you months ago, and whatever else happened afterward, I agreed, and you’re asking me if I find you attractive?” His intent gaze had turned into a soft smile, and Bella narrowed her eyes. “You just wanted to hear me say it, didn’t you?”

Thorin had turned back to watching the village through the smoke from his pipe, but the smile remained. “You told a King he should play eye-candy. I think I earned the right to tease you a little.”

“I think I liked you better when you glared at me and called me “burglar,”” Bella lamented, but her hand found Thorin’s on the bench.

“Was I truly so unpleasant?” He asked with a chuckle, squeezing her hand lightly.

“I don’t think you want to pursue that subject,” Bella replied firmly. “Speaking of hair though, why did you leave those braids in? They look ridiculous.”

“You put them in,” He answered with a shrug.

“Well I’m taking them out,” she decided abruptly, and Thorin obediently turned to allow her unfettered access to his mane. Bella ran her fingers through the nearest braid, and it unwound smoothly. How did his hair stay so neat? Thorin stiffened suddenly, and Bella stilled her fingers. “Did I pull too hard?”

“No,” Thorin confirmed, his voice full of that strange roughness from before. “I am just very aware that we are in your front yard.”

“So? It’s sunset. A fine time to be in the yard,” Bella observed, not understanding the source of his discomfort.

Thorin grunted irritably. “Bella, need I remind you of… the significance of allowing a non-family member to groom me?”

“No, I remember, but we’re the only ones within a hundred miles who knows that,” she reminded him airily, tugging a bit too hard on a stubborn braid. “Honestly, and you make light of my scruples.”

“You don’t think your neighbors will have something to say about you grooming a Dwarf on your front step?” The amusement was creeping back into his voice, much to Bella’s relief.

“They already think I’ve bedded you, I can’t see why anyone would think this worth gossiping over,” she admitted wryly. “Now they can see I’m not ashamed of you.” Thorin hummed softly in response, and leaned back into Bella’s hands. They sat in companionable silence while she worked to undo her earlier handiwork. When she finished, she ran her fingers through his hair a few more times, pretending to check for knots. “There, all done,” she said reluctantly, and Thorin turned to face her. 

His hand came up to cup her cheek, and he leaned forward, pausing when they were almost nose to nose. He was giving her a chance to refuse, Bella realized, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Instead, she leaned in the rest of the way, pressing her lips lightly against Thorin’s. Considering this sufficient encouragement, Thorin kissed her back fiercely, and Bella’s nerves thrilled at the idea that she was being thoroughly kissed on her doorstep. What use was respectability anyway?

Bella tried to move closer to deepen the kiss, but Thorin chose that moment to back up, breaking it. He was flushed and breathing heavily, much to her satisfaction (not that she was any better), and the crooked grin on his face made her wish he hadn’t pulled back.

“Really,” she huffed. “Complaining about me doing your hair on the doorstep, and then you do that.”

“There will be talk,” he agreed with an oddly breathy laugh.

“Oh, get inside you scoundrel,” Bella scolded without any conviction. Thorin did as he was bid, but Bella did not immediately follow. There was a gentle breeze, a beautiful sunset, thick grass between her toes, and she seemed to feel it more than usual, as if all of her senses were on fire. She felt more alive than she had in months. Years even, she reflected with chagrin. “The next great adventure, I suppose,” she murmured with a smile. “Always in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

An idea sparked in her mind, and she darted inside, heading straight for her study. The book. If she finished the book, that could be her handmade gift to Thorin. It was a record of his journey, and while she was certain Ori had done a serviceable job documenting it, she was the storyteller in the group. It was her version of events that she wanted in the songs and tales.

She was halfway through a page before Thorin found her, peering over her shoulder, and she shifted to hide what she was writing. “It’s not ready,” she scolded, and Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Ready for what?”

“Reading,” she replied shortly.

“And what is “it”?” He asked patiently.

“Gandalf suggested I-” Bella began, stopping abruptly. “Actually, I’m not telling. It’s a secret, no Dwarves allowed.”

If Thorin was bothered by this declaration, he showed no sign. Instead, he selected a book from shelves against the wall, settled into a chair and began to read. Bella would have been pleased, had she not felt like he was waiting her out. It was hard to write about what happened at the Carrock with him watching. She had never been very good at writing “love scenes,” she reflected with a shake of the head, remembering the separate volume full of them, and it felt a great deal like a love scene.

“If you are trying to wait me out-” She began, and Thorin snorted.

“I am reading, Bella. I’m not here,” he interrupted absently, and she reluctantly tried to return to writing, but soon put the pen down again. Even now, knowing that Thorin was alive and well, it was hard to look back and process some of those memories. How many decades would it have taken to examine these memories, had he truly been dead?

“Thorin,” she began hesitantly. “At the Carrock…”

“I was already in love with you,” he supplied without looking up. “I finally decided to admit it to myself.”

“When did you first notice it?” She asked curiously, her pen moving again.

“The Trollshaw. I blamed you for that incident, but without you, I don’t know how it would have played out,” Thorin admitted.

Bella felt the words flowing easier on the page with this admission. Writing about Thorin was easier, and as he featured prominently, well… Soon they had descended from the Carrock, left Beorn’s, and gotten ensnared in Mirkwood, before her growling stomach told her she had ignored it too long. When had it gotten so dark? Thorin was reading by candlelight, and had placed a candle on the desk for her at some point. She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“How long have I been at it?” She asked, her voice rough from thirst.

“You skipped dinner and supper,” Thorin replied, smiling slightly and setting his book aside. “Though I suppose it may not be too late for dessert.”

“Hobbits don’t tell time in meals you know,” Bella pouted, setting her pen aside, blowing lightly on the pages, and closing the book. “It’s too late to make something. I think there’s some pie left in the pantry,” she mused, evidently caught on the word “dessert.”

When the pie was served, Thorin gave it a wry look before digging in. Bella frowned. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Thorin shook his head slowly. “No, I just rather expected… to eat more often as a Hobbit’s houseguest.”

Bella narrowed her eyes. “Questioning a Hobbit’s hospitality is considered the height of rudeness,” she told him airily, stabbing her fork into her slice. “You know where the pantry is. I stocked it enough to handle twice the number of Dwarves as last time.”

Thorin wisely bit back his retort about not being involved in the last incident in her pantry. “I apologize for the insult,” he said instead graciously. “The pie is delicious.”

Bella accepted the apology and the compliment with a gracious nod, which perhaps Thorin would have called regal, had he not known better than to suggest that Bella was queenly. “We are not yet engaged, such talk is presumptuous,” she would have said, probably with a mouthful of pie. Her table manners had really suffered from eating with Dwarves, he reflected, stifling a chuckle.

During Thorin’s musings, Bella had finished her slice of pie, and was looking at the vase of flowers from Thorin speculatively. She should wear flowers to the party, it was part of being festive. Perhaps with some creative braiding, she could wear Thorin’s flowers as a crown with the purple one in the center like a jewel, weaving the stems into her hair so they wouldn’t fall off. Would Thorin like that?

“I was thinking of wearing the flowers you gave me to the party,” She began hesitantly, drawing one of them from the vase. “Rather like this.” She demonstrated her idea, clumsily braiding her hair in a circle around her head, then inserting the flower stems and weaving them into the braid. The end result was a little lopsided, Bella reflected, looking at her reflection in a spoon, and Thorin hadn’t said anything during her explanation. She could practically see gears turning in his head, but otherwise his expression betrayed nothing. “Thorin?”

He snapped to attention, his thoughtful expression replaced with that now-familiar slight upturn of the lips. “Maybe you should let me do that tomorrow,” he suggested, amused. “Is there a forge in Hobbiton?”

“It’s down by the stables,” Bella confirmed, wondering what the sudden question boded. “Do you want me to show you tomorrow?”

Thorin shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I plan to get an early start and I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

Belladonna Baggins had heard a fair amount of suspicious things in her fifty years, but Thorin Oakenshield saying he was getting up early, presumably to work, when he was essentially on vacation was easily the most suspicious. “Is it worth asking what you’re suddenly working on?”

“Not really,” he admitted. Bella accepted this reluctantly (she’d been awfully cagey about her book after all), and after washing up and putting the flowers back into the vase, they retired to the living room. Bella perused the bookshelves for an old favorite while Thorin restored the fireplace to its usual cheerful crackling. When he was done, Thorin settled into the armchair, and tugged Bella onto his lap without warning.

“Thorin!” Bella squeaked indignantly.

“Before you remind me that this is improper,” Thorin began, his breath tickling Bella’s ear. “Remember that you kissed me in your front yard.”

“I kissed you? I remember it differently.” Bella squirmed, trying to get her ticklish ears out of range, and only succeeding in becoming more trapped in Thorin’s embrace. His strong arms were wrapped securely around her middle, and his hands weren’t touching anything that they shouldn’t be, she reluctantly conceded. If she was trapped, might as well enjoy it, Bella decided, leaning into his chest. “Confounded Dwarves,” she muttered fondly.

“So,” Thorin continued unperturbed. “What will you be reading to us before bed?”

Bella glanced at the book she had managed to grab before being absconded with and winced. “Terribly dry, I’m afraid. ‘Creation Myths of the Eldar.’ I suspect you wouldn’t be interested.” Bella felt rather than heard Thorin’s rumble of disapproval.

“Are all your books written by elves?” He groused good-naturedly.

“I always wanted to see the elves, you know,” Bella replied tartly. “I never suspected that when I finally did, it would be in the company of Dwarves, and first impressions are rather important. That Lord Elrond welcomed me back to Rivendell says a great deal about his character.”

“So you have no books by Dwarves,” Thorin deduced, choosing to ignore Bella’s comments. This earned him a light jab in the ribs, which hurt a great deal more than Thorin cared to admit at the moment. That area was still a little tender.

“Your people are hardly prone to sharing their secrets,” Bella reminded him. “I have a few books about Dwarves, but nothing by one, and you would hardly find some Man’s interpretations of your customs edifying.”

“I could tell you what they got wrong,” Thorin offered, tension easing out of him at the topic change.

Bella tapped her chin thoughtfully. She didn’t need to get the book to remember the questions she had that none of the Dwarves had been willing to answer. “Is it true that at birth, you are given a name in Khuzdul which is only to be spoken to other Dwarves, and a name to give to outsiders?”

“That is true,” Thorin admitted hesitantly. “If we were married, you would learn mine.”

“And when would it be appropriate to call you by it?” Bella asked curiously. “If it is a secret name, I assume it’s not for everyday wear, so to speak.”

“It would be appropriate in situations like this, when we are alone.” Thorin drew her closer, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of her ear, and Bella blushed hotly. 

“So the saying of the true name is an intimate gesture?” Bella continued, trying not to stammer, and Thorin chuckled. Bella felt the laugh rumble in his chest and her face grew warmer.

“You have to be very close to know it, so depending on the nature of your relationship, invoking it carries different connotations,” he explained, twitching a finger mischievously, causing Bella to jump and swat at his hands. “For parents, it is used to scold and praise. For siblings, to share worries.” He lowered his head, speaking directly into her ear. “For lovers, to whisper endearments.” Bella wondered if she could get a fever if she blushed for too long.

“How many innocent hobbit-lasses have you seduced in this way?” Bella asked in what she hoped was a playful tone.

“Just the one, I hope.” Thorin tilted her head toward his. “I do not think her innocent, though.”

It was an awkward angle. Both of them had to twist their necks badly, but when their lips met, the discomfort was quickly forgotten. Compared to their last kiss, this one was slow and languid, a comfortable exploration of lips, and, as they broke apart, of cheeks, jaws and necks, Thorin’s beard leaving a pleasantly scratchy trail in its wake. Bella’s breath hitched in her throat as Thorin found a particularly sensitive spot, and she remembered that she had promised herself not to get too swept up in the moment. You thought he was dead yesterday, she reminded herself firmly. Do not be hasty. Still she did not want Thorin to think his attentions were unwelcome generally, just at the present moment. She cast about for a way to lower the temperature of the room so to speak, and her eyes fell upon the book in her lap. He had suggested that she read aloud, she recalled.

“There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made,” Bella began, shakily at first, and more steadily as Thorin settled in to listen, though he nipped lightly at her ear. A different chapter perhaps, Bella decided, flipping ahead a few pages.

She began again. “It is told that in their beginning the Dwarves were made by Aulë in the darkness of Middle-earth; for so greatly did Aulë desire the coming of the Children, to have learners to whom he could teach his lore and his crafts, that he was unwilling to await the fulfilment of the designs of Ilúvatar. And Aulë made the Dwarves even as they still are, because the forms of the Children who were to come were unclear to his mind…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two paragraphs come from The Silmarillion, the first from the very first page, and the second from the section on the creation of the dwarves.


	4. Over the Hill and Under the Party Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin makes a crown and Bella tries not to pull her hair out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sooner had I finished the first draft of the later chapters, when word came back I needed to do a second. Your comments have been really helpful in that regard, so thanks for reading and giving feedback! Chapter 5 will probably be out on saturday, since I'm trying to update every three days or so. Thanks again to Niffstral for betaing!
> 
> (Also, I had to do a find and replace on names in this chapter because I misread a Took family tree, so if you see a name come out of nowhere and not be repeated, let me know)

Belladonna Baggins awoke in her own bed, with no memory of how she had gotten there, and feeling uncomfortably constricted. She recalled eating, some kissing (she blushed again at the memory, thankful this time they had been in private), and finally reading aloud, but nothing after that. Looking down, she discovered that she had evidently slept in her clothes, which were now thoroughly wrinkled. She had fallen asleep while reading, then, and Thorin had brought her to bed.

A conspicuously absent Thorin, Bella noticed after emerging from her room to find his boots gone from beside the door. A flash of panic spread over her as she jogged over to the guest room. Perhaps she really had dreamed it, or maybe Dwalin had taken him off in the night! It was a relief therefore to find his fur-lined coat draped over the guest bed, along with his outfit for the party, and to remember that he had intended to go to the forge that morning.

Thorin Oakenshield was not a man given to letting things go easily, whether it was the great wealth of his people or his regret over how that wealth had induced him to behave. He was therefore glad that he had already planned to go to the forge that morning, because remaining in Bag End after letting his self-control slip that far threatened to choke him with shame. He had sworn not to take advantage of her mental state, yet how could anyone say he had not? It was just so comfortable, holding Bella and pretending there were no other responsibilities waiting for him.

What he had come to the forge to make was a sharp reminder that it was only pretend.

The traditional crown for the Queen of Erebor would never fit Bella’s head. Thorin had long wondered at the solution to that problem, knowing that even if he made a new one, Bella would no doubt object to wearing a crown in any case. That was until he had seen her crowned in flowers, and inspiration had struck. It had been years since he had done work this fine (Men rarely commissioned diadems, and he was more of a blacksmith than a jeweler), and the practice did him good. Every step was slow and deliberate, a gentle but firm shaping of the metal into his desired form. It felt natural, being back in a forge, even though he had not crafted anything since the quest for Erebor. “Hard work is a remedy for melancholy,” was a favorite mantra of his, though he had forgotten now who had said it first.

Thorin worked all morning, and though the circlet was not finished, his grumbling stomach and general dishevelment forced him to give it up for the day. He had long since grown accustomed to unfriendly stares, but felt self-conscious for Bella’s sake as he trooped back to Bag End. Were he less inured to staring, he might have noticed that the sight of a sooty, sweaty dwarf with his long mane tied back caused considerably less alarm than he supposed. Some of the stares were openly admiring, and the Hobbits of Bagshot Row began to suggest that perhaps Bella had done rather well. Her dwarf would almost be handsome, if he did not scowl so much. Thorin shrugged the comments off. He was too tired, though pleasantly so, to feign civility for the town gossips.

Bella spent the morning writing, eager to put the trials of Mirkwood behind her. Even writing about the place cast a pall over her cheery hobbit hole. Thorin’s mood improved drastically after shouting obscenities at Thranduil as well, which would be more fun to remember. His smiles had been easier, his laughter had come quicker.

Perhaps because she was thinking about him, Bella noticed the heavy tread of boots in the entryway, and set aside her pen to greet Thorin. “How was-” she began, then stopped dead at the sight of him. His soot-smeared skin gleamed with sweat, and his long hair was tied back in a low ponytail. It was, Bella reflected as she clutched the door frame for support, a very good look for him. Though very unfair that what would render anyone else less attractive only seemed to make him more so. She certainly couldn’t have pulled it off.

“Have you eaten?” She said instead, hoping she sounded casual.

“Not since I left this morning,” Thorin replied, shucking off his boots. “Though perhaps a bath first.” He looked uncomfortable, like he was trying not to touch anything. Bella took pity on him and retrieved a muffin from the pantry, handing it to Thorin.

“That should hold you long enough to get clean,” she offered briskly. “Now, into the bath with you.” She made a shooing motion, and Thorin retired to the bath with his muffin, pausing in the guest room to stow the half-finished circlet under the bed. Once she heard the bathroom door lock (really? She wasn’t going to molest him in the bath), Bella set about preparing lunch, realizing wryly that she still had not gotten Thorin’s help with meal preparation. 

By the time Thorin emerged again, now with hair unbraided and wet from the bath (Bella tried to remind herself that she’d seen him like that more than a few times before, but it did not stop the blush spreading over her cheeks), Bella had laid out another meal that was probably larger than necessary. If Thorin thought anything about the almost absurd amount of food, he gave no sign, thanking her and digging in gratefully.

“There’s somewhere we should probably go before the party,” Bella told him once they made a decent dent in the food. “I have something of yours, but I stored it somewhere else.”

One of Thorin’s eyebrows rose at her deliberate vagueness. “Something of mine? I never gave you anything that you would need to return.”

“You didn’t give this to me,” she admitted mysteriously. “But it’s still yours. You shall see when we finish lunch.”

There were no leftovers, and Thorin looked like he could still eat. Blacksmithing was hungry work, Bella supposed, pleased at how readily he devoured her cooking. “There will be dinner at the party, but I suppose I should ask if there’s anything you want me to cook while you’re here,” Bella told Thorin as they tidied, but he shook his head.

“Anything you make is delicious,” was his response, spoken as if that was obvious. Bella flushed pink with pleasure.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said fondly. She stared openly as he rebraided his hair and reattached all of his hardware, forgetting that she was supposed to be drying plates and almost dropping one when he met her eyes in amusement. He had grown his beard out, she noticed as they prepared to head to the museum. It wasn’t quite long enough to braid, but he had definitely stopped keeping it close-cropped.

“Are you growing your beard?” She asked curiously, locking Bag End behind them, and Thorin nodded.

“When the dragon came, the dwarves who fled the mountain had flaming beards. I kept mine short as a tribute, and a promise,” he explained, his expression darkening a little at the memory.

“A promise to retake the mountain,” Bella supplied thoughtfully.

“Yes. Now that it is retaken, it seemed like I should grow it again.” He sounded almost regretful.

“You don’t seem too happy about that. Aren’t dwarves supposed to be proud of their beards?” Bella teased lightly, and she hoped she hadn’t stumbled into too serious a subject. Thorin’s wry grin suggested success.

“It was short for so long, I don’t really know what to do with it,” he admitted, rubbing it thoughtfully.

“‘Do with it?’” Bella repeated with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a beard. You don’t have to do anything with it.”

“Ornamentation of beards is just as important as it is for hair,” Thorin explained with a shake of the head. “Even beardless youths have something, like Fili and his mustache braids.”

Bella rubbed her temples. “Speak not to me of Fili’s mustache braids. They are ridiculous and you know it, or you would have mustache braids of your own.” Thorin raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Bella hit his arm lightly. “No mustache braids. Besides, Balin and Dwalin don’t have anything in their beards. I really don’t think you need to put too much thought into this.”

Thorin nodded but said nothing, and Bella wondered if she had been of any help at all. They were silent the rest of the way to the museum, with Bella pausing to give polite greetings whenever they passed someone, which was blessedly infrequent. When it came to the world outside the Shire, most Hobbits were not the least bit curious, and so Bella’s treasures had mostly just collected dust since arriving. It truly was a sign of how little her neighbors cared that when they arrived, not even the guard assigned to watch the valuables was anywhere to be seen. Bella headed straight for the display case in the back, Thorin following at a slower pace as he scanned the museum curiously.

There was an empty space with a explanatory placard where Sting should be, and the Mithril shirt beside it. Bella knew little enough of the histories of both items, so the placards said very little of substance, simply where she had gotten them and when, as well as what she could guess of their origins. Beside the shirt was Thorin’s eponymous oaken shield, with a much longer placard, as Bella actually knew the full history of that item. The quiet gasp behind her told her that Thorin had finally noticed it.

“Where… how…” was all he could articulate, and Bella smiled, turning to face his look of awe.

“I went back to the place where you dropped it. It was still there, buried in the snow. Not the best decision I’ve ever made, but here we are,” Bella explained, glossing over the less pleasant details.

Thorin’s awe subsided slightly as concern for her welfare took over. “You risked yourself in winter to retrieve this? Why?”

Bella flushed and turned back to the display case. “I know it was just a piece of wood. But it protected your life many times. It seems strange to say, but I felt like it would understand how I was feeling. And… you carried it for such a long time, it felt like having a piece of you,” she finished, her face redder than ever.

“Yet it is here, and not in Bag End,” he observed quietly.

“After a while, looking at it felt like a stab wound,” she admitted, touching the glass lightly. “So here it came to stay, along with the armor you gave me and the sword that matched yours.” Bella moved to the side of the case and inserted a key, opening the display case slowly. “At least now, it will be where it belongs again.” She drew out the oaken branch, holding it out to Thorin reverently. He glanced at it briefly, before pulling Bella into his arms, branch and all.

“You foolish, foolish hobbit,” he whispered fiercely.

“I’m not the one who ran after me from his sickbed,” she whispered back, leaning into the embrace as well as she could.

The oaken shield now restored to Thorin, it was time to prepare for the party. Set up was already in full swing, Bella observed with some dread as she looked towards the party tree, so it was time for them to start getting ready too. 

“Hobbits do not give gifts when they are guests at birthday parties,” Bella explained upon their return to Bag End. “I hope you weren’t making one when you went to the forge this morning, I was worried that I didn’t tell you.”

“I was not making a birthday present,” Thorin confirmed. Bella had hoped he would say what he was making, but Thorin looked at her as if he expected her to continue.

“If the birthday girl was coming of age, all of the eligible men would be expected to dance with her, but she is a few years shy, so only relatives can dance with her. Please decline politely if she tries to ask,” Bella continued firmly. “It is practically tradition that lasses her age try to break tradition, do not be complicit.”

“Did you try?” Thorin asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I did more than try, and that is all that will be said on the subject,” Bella replied briskly. “Do you know how to dance?”

“How many tutors do you suppose I had as a Prince?” Thorin pointed out wryly. “I was never taught Hobbit dances though.” 

A short lesson later, and Bella supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that his natural grace in battle would translate to dancing as well, especially as Hobbit dances tended to be pretty free-form. Which meant there was nothing more she could do really, because if he couldn’t handle her Aunts, nothing she could say or do to prepare him would make it easier. 

Resigned to the inevitable, it was time to dress. Bella had chosen a burgundy dress that matched her flowers, and as she put it on and removed the Ring from the pocket of her discarded dress, she hesitated. Though she hardly suspected it of latent evil, it was magic, and it was gold. Bella did not want Thorin around the Ring, and if she kept it on her much longer, he was very likely to find it. So, after returning her morning dress to the closet, Bella hid the ring in her mother’s memory chest, determined to keep it secret, and keep it safe. She resolved reluctantly to bring it up with Gandalf when next she saw him.

Thorin’s clothing choices were very limited, as he had left Erebor with only one change of clothes, and none of his outerwear was really suitable for a Hobbit occasion. Armor, for one thing, would simply not do. So he had been wearing just his midnight blue tunic and trousers, and felt rather naked and reminded of a trip down a river in barrels, but there was little other choice. Going out barefoot also chafed (in some cases literally), but if he stepped on someone’s foot with his boots, there would be hell to pay, Bella had warned. So he wore much less than was comfortable, tied his hair back (on Bella’s recommendation), and braided flowers into Bella’s hair, waiting for the day when Bella would have to be attired according to Dwarven customs and receive etiquette lessons. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that that day might not come.

The sun was setting when they finally emerged from Bag End again, and Bella’s nerves were buzzing. Aunt Mirabella had always been a stickler for tardiness, and since they were not mentioning Thorin’s rank, lateness would be unforgivable. So, if their journey to the party tree was a bit brisk, Thorin at least had the good sense to say nothing about it.

Aunt Mirabella greeted Bella enthusiastically. They were not late. “You look a great deal like my poor sister tonight,” she told her softly after their initial greeting, and Bella felt a lump in her throat. “Are you going to introduce me to your houseguest? I thought she taught you better manners than that.”

Bella swallowed her discomfort and smiled. “Of course, Aunt. This is Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, this is my Aunt, Mirabella Brandybuck, née Took. This is her daughter Asphodel’s birthday party.”

“At your service,” Thorin said with a gallant bow.

“And at yours,” Aunt Mirabella replied, glancing at Bella in surprise. Bella steadfastly refused to make eye contact.

“I know little of Hobbit ways, but among dwarves, asking for a late invitation is considered a major inconvenience," Thorin offered smoothly. "I am in your debt."

"Not at all, Hobbits love large parties," Aunt Mirabella replied, flustered. "And we have all been eager to meet Belladonna's... houseguest."

"Where is Asphodel?" Bella changed the subject quickly. "I want to give her my best wishes."

They were soon pointed in the right direction, and Bella heaved a sigh of relief. "I suppose I have to give you credit for more tact than you showed when we first met," Bella allowed, steering Thorin far from Aunt Mirabella. "Though it seems strange to me that you only act like a king when no one knows you are one."

"It has nothing to do with being a king," he replied lightly, "and everything to do with not wanting to embarrass. Speaking of which, we seem to be moving away from your cousin."

"That is the plan," Bella agreed. "Birthday parties are more like semi-public feasts thrown by each family. We have greeted the hostess, so there is no need to start talk because Asphodel threw herself at a dwarf." Thorin raised an eyebrow but said nothing, accepting her superior understanding of the situation. "Dinner first, I think. Asphodel has to open the dancing, and then we will be free to make a spectacle of ourselves."

She pointed at the buffet, and Thorin adopted a wistful expression. "That may be the first buffet I have seen that could defeat my company."

"Aunt Mirabella wasn't exaggerating when she said inviting you was no trouble," Bella told him with a grin. "One dwarf could not make enough of a dent to cause other guests to go hungry."

Plates loaded with food, they managed to find a relatively unoccupied table, and Bella dug in with aplomb. Once she had made a dent on her food (and noticed Thorin doing the same), she took the time to explain her actions earlier. “Asphodel is engaged,” she said after swallowing. “Unofficially of course, because she’s not of age. But Asphodel hates waiting, and so she came up with a truly absurd plan.” Bella could not resist rolling her eyes. “She thought if she flirted shamelessly with every man who came into her path while her family was watching, they would decide that she couldn’t be trusted outside the married state and let her get married before she’s of age.”

Thorin raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Asphodel in a amusement. “Is her fiance aware of this plan?”

Bella nodded. “He is, but I thought his patience might be sorely taxed if she moved from flirting with other hobbits to flirting with a dwarf. Everyone thinks, because of me, that dwarves enjoy carting off hobbit-lasses into their halls of stone, and Asphodel might invite more trouble if it was thought that she wanted that.”

“You make it sound like we kidnapped you,” Thorin pointed out wryly.

“I didn’t tell anyone what happened, so they drew their own conclusions,” Bella replied tartly. “I started telling the children bits and pieces, but…” She smiled. “Kidnapping may be too strong a word, but you can’t say you didn’t try to seduce me into your company with that song.”

Thorin chuckled. “It was Gandalf’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

Bella watched Asphodel as she ate, pleased when she finally saw her fiance appear. Asphodel seemed to glow as he approached, her plan temporarily forgotten. It was time to open the dancing, Asphodel leading the way cheerfully, and soon the field was full of Hobbits bouncing and twirling to the music. When Bella turned back to Thorin, she found that he was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“May I have this dance, Bella?” He asked with a small smile, offering her his hand. Bella took it hesitantly, and found that she could say nothing through the lump in her throat, so she simply nodded.


	5. Whispers in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella may be a liar and a thief, but she'll treasure this stolen time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start moving a lot faster in this chapter. I did what I could to slow it down, but there wasn't much I could do. I work on oneshots in between editing this fic to avoid going crazy, and one of them might see the light of day soon. As always, thanks to Niffstral for betaing, and I hope you enjoy.

They had not disgraced themselves, at least, Bella decided with relief as Thorin led her back to their seats. She was not much of a dancer or a fighter, and Thorin was both. It was hardly fair. They were both breathing heavily, but she imagined her breathing was heavier, her face redder, her hair more tousled. Had she known what effect this was having on Thorin, who was deliberately avoiding looking at her, perhaps she would not have been so bothered.

They had almost made it back to the table when Bella caught sight of a figure on Bagshot Row and froze in her tracks. It was dark so she could not be certain, but Bella’s heart hammered in her chest. Dwalin. She tugged Thorin’s hand, leading them off in another direction. 

“Bella?” Thorin sounded short of breath. Good. “Where are you taking us?”

She turned briefly, pressing a finger to her lips, a suggestion for silence. A few more steps and Bella found what she was looking for: a quiet spot between several tents. No one else was around, and they certainly couldn’t be seen from the road. Bella led Thorin into a likely corner, put her hands on his shoulders, and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. It was the oldest distraction in the book, but it wasn’t as though she had not planned on doing this anyway.

Thorin’s hands quickly found her waist, and Bella felt him seat her on a pile of boxes so that he could kiss her more easily. Feeling bold, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and she felt rather than heard the rumble of his approval. His tongue probed her lips for entry, and she parted them eagerly, unable to stop her gasp as it ran fervently along the seam of her lips. When his tongue retreated momentarily, Bella bit his lower lip lightly, eliciting a groan that sent heat spreading through her veins.

“And you were so worried about your reputation,” Thorin teased breathlessly when they finally came up for air, pressing scratchy kisses to her neck and ears that left those areas feeling like they were on fire.

“You see now that I was right,” Bella panted, running her fingers through his hair. “I can’t stop throwing myself at you in public.”

“It doesn’t have to be in public…” Thorin suggested, the heat in his voice setting Bella’s nerves jangling.

She was about to reply when a high childish voice cut like a knife through their ardour, wondering where Miss Bella was, she’d promised to tell another story! Bella sighed. “It looks like I still have obligations tonight. You may too, now that I remember. My relatives may have a few questions for you.”

Thorin lifted her off the boxes regretfully, and they took a moment to fix their hair and any rogue clothing articles before emerging from behind the tents. Bella was quickly claimed by the children wanting story time, and Thorin was waylaid by Bella’s aunts in the blink of an eye. She settled into the usual chair, looking down at the eager faces wryly.

“Would all you like to hear about the time I saved the dwarves from the woodland King’s realm with barrels?” Bella asked as cheerfully as she could manage, picking a story she knew Thorin wouldn’t have wanted to hear anyway. There was a chorus of cheerful yes’s, so Bella settled in to tell the story.

“The forest of Mirkwood was once called the Greenwood, and it was bright and beautiful, but it is not so anymore. The very air felt sick and wrong, we were very soon lost. Soon everyone was arguing, and I climbed to the treetops to see if I could discern the way. When I came back down, everyone had been trapped in the webs of giant spiders!”

The children gasped, and some of the grabbed each other in terror. Bella glanced in Thorin’s direction, and noting that he still seemed calm, continued her tale.

“Giant spiders are very dangerous, but they are not very bright. I distracted them by throwing a stone, then snuck up on the one that remained, and I-” Bella mimed stabbing him, “-got him in the head. I cut down all the dwarves, and they fought off the spiders, but we were separated, and when the Elves came, they took the Dwarves prisoner.”

“But why?” One of the lads piped up. “Were the spiders the Elves’ pets?”

Bella laughed. “No, no. Because their forest had become so dark and dangerous, the Elves were suspicious of anyone who came through, and all travelers needed their King’s permission. When the leader of our company was brought before the King, they were not able to see eye-to-eye, so he had them imprisoned in the dungeon.”

“But not you?” One of the lasses this time.

“They did not see me,” Bella admitted. “And elves are as fond of celebration and drinking as any other race, so I was able to sneak into his domain, and wait until the keeper of the keys was passed out drunk!”

“But how did you get them out? The guards wouldn’t be drinkin’,” another lad observed, and Bella pursed her lips.

“I was getting to that,” she told him tartly, and started when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Thorin had escaped her aunts unscathed, and was smiling at her faintly. “Everyone, this is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company,” she said, and the children quieted instantly, their mouths turning into round little ‘o’s’. 

“As I was saying, I did a great deal of exploring, and found that the elves sent their spent wine barrels down the river through a hatch in the floor. With the keys in my possession, I freed the dwarves from their cells and led them to the cellar. After some prodding, they climbed into the barrels, and down the river we went.”

“Is that really what happened?” One of the lasses asked Thorin, looking up at him in awe.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and Bella thought she could feel his warm gaze scorching the back of her neck. “I knew Bella would find a way to get us out.” The children gasped, and Thorin looked to Bella to see what he had done wrong.

“Too casual,” she mouthed, recalling that the children did not know they were courting, and that because of her stories, they were the only ones who knew Thorin was a King.

“Are you going to take Miss Bella away to be your Queen?” A tiny hobbit-lass asked with wide eyes.

“I hope very much to,” Thorin admitted quietly, suggesting to the children that this was a great secret. “But she has not yet accepted me.” Bella rolled her eyes at this. She had dragged him behind a tent for a snog, and he thought her intentions were still in doubt.

“Miss Bella will accept you,” another child said with certainty.

“What makes you say that, little one?” Thorin asked good-humoredly, kneeling down to the child’s level. Bella’s face felt like it was on fire.

“When she was telling us about how you and the Elven King couldn’t see eye-to-eye, she clearly thought it was all your fault, but she didn’t want us to know so she made it sound like it was both your faults,” the child explained brightly.

“Did she now?” Thorin turned around quickly to look at Bella. She was looking steadfastly in another direction. “Does Miss Bella often lie to you?” Several of the children nodded eagerly, and Bella fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. Thorin was going to get it. “And why do you suppose she lies?”

The children thought about this, and some of them conferred with each other. “Because Miss Bella was sad,” one suggested, “and the truth hurt.”

Bella stopped resisting, and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, save me from the perceptiveness of children,” she moaned, and felt Thorin’s hand return to her shoulder.

“I think Miss Bella is done with storytime for tonight,” he decided, helping Bella stand. The children clamored a little in disappointment, but Thorin was right. Bella could not tell any more tales for the time being, having discovered how transparent she was. She scanned the road quickly. No sign of Dwalin. They had been at the party long enough, she thought.

“Take me home, Thorin,” she murmured, so he took her arm and led her away.

“Are you well?” He asked, worry creeping into his voice, and Bella smiled tiredly at him.

“Yes, yes. Quite well,” she assured him. “I just feel so foolish.” She raised her hand to run it through her curls, but remembering the flowers, lowered it again. “I had not thought I had… grieved so publicly.”

“You have a very expressive face,” Thorin told her gently. “It is no wonder your aunts asked some of the questions they did.”

“What did they ask you?” Bella demanded curiously, and Thorin chuckled.

“Oh, a lot of very impertinent questions,” he admitted lightly. “As well as how and why I broke your heart.”

“And what did you tell them?” She gripped his arm a little tighter.

“I told them that I lost sight of what was truly important for a moment, and when I looked back again, you were gone,” Thorin told her. “And that I have been running after you ever since.”

Bella snorted. “What a vague and romantic explanation. And they accepted that?”

“Not for an instant,” he admitted. “But they know that I love you. That was all I could hope for under the circumstances.” Bella’s heart fluttered at his words, almost forgetting that their time was running out. They reached Bag End before she knew it, and Bella scanned the ground for signs of Dwalin. Nothing. Maybe she had just imagined it?

As she locked the door behind them, Bella felt hands snaking across her waist, and Thorin’s breath was warm in her ear. “You looked lovely this evening, ghivashel,” he murmured, pressing her against his chest.

“Especially when I couldn’t keep my hands off you, right?” Bella observed, her breath hitching as his beard raked the surprisingly sensitive flesh between her neck and shoulders.

“Especially when you blushed because I told the children I wanted to make you my Queen,” he replied, his voice husky. 

“Such a thing to say when you have not proposed again,” she objected weakly, melting into him nevertheless. Thorin nipped the tip of her ear lightly and she stifled a gasp.

“I am working on a courting gift,” he promised, and his hands suddenly retreated. “I do not know if-”

Bella turned to face him, looking up into his eyes, which were suddenly uncertain. “I am working on one too,” she admitted. “So you can’t leave until I’ve finished.” Bella wrapped her arms around his neck, stretching a little to do so. “I love you, Thorin. I’ve no intention of letting you go.” There was something in the back of Bella's mind screaming that things were going too fast. She hadn’t forgotten the problems they had, her fears about Thorin’s gold-sickness, and her own tendency to lie when it was convenient, but the road to Erebor was long, while their time in the Shire was short. She was inclined to enjoy it while it lasted.

“Bella…” He said her name like a prayer, his eyes devouring her rapturously. Perhaps it was a prayer, Bella wondered as Thorin leaned down to kiss her. A prayer for self-control. He kissed her gently, more restrained than before, and pulled back quickly. Bella tried not to be disappointed. “I must go to the forge in the morning,” he admitted regretfully, turning to leave. “Good night, Bella.” Then he padded off toward the guest room, leaving Bella a little flustered and over warm.

As Bella tried to settle in, removing the flowers from her hair slowly, she thought it had been a good night, but it was not likely to be a good night from a sleep perspective. Thorin was on the other side of the wall, and in two days she had managed to end up in all kinds of compromising positions with him. Two days! She sighed. Before, the first time they’d courted, it had been all respectful distances and no alone time. But now, on the other side of gold-sickness, war and death, protocol didn’t seem to matter anymore. They were both adults, capable of making their own decisions. And Bella had decided not to waste another moment.

She did not go to bed. Instead, Bella wrapped herself in her dressing gown, crept into her study, and resumed writing. It was truly amazing, she realized later, that none of it had read like erotica.

Bella awoke in her bed, once again unsure as to how she had gotten there. She was certain she had never stopped writing and gone to bed, so she had probably fallen asleep at her desk. And been rescued by Thorin again, she realized, noticing she was still in her dressing gown. Probably when he went to the forge.

She dressed slowly, wondering what he was making. Something metal, obviously. Or perhaps glass, it occurred to her suddenly. Could Thorin work glass? She didn’t know. She had no idea which of the crafts of the dwarves he was good at. She thought she remembered someone saying that he’d done blacksmithing to support his sister and nephews, but she wasn’t certain. It was definitely believable that he could make swords, Bella decided, thinking of his powerful arms.

And then very firmly not thinking of them, and how they had felt wrapped around her.

A thought occurred to Bella. Thorin had been injured, and confined to his bed for some time. He did seem a bit leaner than before, but just as strong as ever. Perhaps dwarves weren’t the hardiest race in Middle Earth for no reason, she thought with a smile.

Bella wandered into the kitchen to make breakfast (given the hour, perhaps second breakfast would be more accurate). Another meal she would make without Thorin’s help. Well, he would not get away for much longer. There were no more parties to interrupt their evenings, and once he was done at the forge…

He would be done making his courting gift, she realized. And soon after, they would have to return to Erebor. And one did not make kings cook in their own kingdoms. Not that she would have to cook either. The thought made Bella a little sad. She had never wanted to be a Queen, but she had never wanted to face down a dragon either. That had worked out… better than she had expected anyway. If she could steal from Smaug, she could do anything.

At least, she hoped so.

Thorin had slept badly, and rising to find Bella asleep at her desk, deduced that her night had been no easier, and proceeded to put her back in her bed. Hobbiton was quieter that morning than it had been the day before, its inhabitants sleeping off hangovers, and Thorin was grateful not to be one of them. Dwarves were good drinkers, but Bella had hardly given him any opportunity to prove it. A drink after dancing would have been nice, but… what had happened instead was definitely nicer.

He forced the memory from his mind in order to focus on a piece of particularly fine work on the circlet. It was a very slim piece of overlapping strands of silver, with tiny flowers running around the perimeter. Currently, he was attaching the flower petals, which were tiny sapphires. It would match Bella’s eyes, and stand out in her hair more than gold would, and hopefully be light enough that she would agree to wear it.

The sun was high when Thorin finally finished, and he gave the circlet a thorough inspection. The craftsmanship was nothing to be ashamed of, but he felt his deficiencies as a jeweler keenly. It was very plain, at least according to his dwarven sensibilities, but hopefully Bella would disagree. 

He returned to Bag End feeling heavier, the weight of the task ahead of him making his steps slower. Bella intended to accept him. She had said as much by admitting she was making a courting gift. But once she did, there would be nothing keeping them here. He had responsibilities that couldn’t be avoided for much longer. He had acted as a King for much of his life, why should he hesitate now that it was to be official?

There was food on the kitchen table, with a note that said “help yourself,” and the faint sounds of Bella’s quill scratching in the study reached his ears. He was filthy again, so he grabbed a quick bite and retired to the bath. Bella was still writing when he emerged. She wrote with a will, determined to get through the more difficult parts. She did not think she could finish before Thorin finished his courting gift, but then, their story was not yet over. If she had not yet finished writing by the time Dwalin arrived to take them away, it wasn't as though there wouldn't be time in the future. She had found time to write on the road before, and she could probably do it again.

“I only hope he will like it,” she muttered uncertainly, blowing on her most recent page to dry the ink. 

“I am sure I will,” Thorin said from behind her, causing Bella to jump in her seat and slam the book shut. She hoped it hadn’t smeared.

“How long have you been there?” She demanded.

“I heard you speaking,” he admitted, and Bella calmed. Not long, then. He was holding a package, she noticed, and he seemed a little uncomfortable. He kept shifting which foot was carrying more of his weight, as if he couldn’t stand still.

“What is that?” She asked curiously, and he handed it to her hesitantly.

“My courting gift,” Thorin answered, unable to make eye contact. Bella unwrapped the package with trembling fingers. It was the finest thing she had ever seen. She was almost afraid to touch it, lest the circlet shatter in her clumsy hands. “You can’t break it,” he assured her, sensing her hesitation. “It was made for you, after all.”

Bella lifted it gently, marveling at the tiny flowers, her eyes as wide as plates. “You made this… for me,” she murmured dumbly. “You made this for me, in two days?”

Thorin nodded, watching her carefully. He could make nothing of her reaction. “I had the idea when you put my flowers in your hair. It seemed like they were the only kind of crown that would suit you.”

Bella met his eyes, and her smile was almost blinding. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “And so light!”

“Do you accept?” Thorin asked formally, and Bella almost laughed.

“Yes, Thorin. I accept your gift,” Bella replied, matching his formality even as a smile threatened to burst forth again. “I did not know you could make such delicate things.”

“It had been some time,” he admitted, and Bella thought she detected a blush creeping into his cheeks. “But, for your sake…”

“In comparison, my gift feels rather shabby,” she told him, offering him the book. “It isn’t finished yet, but then, neither are we.” Thorin took it uncertainly, and opened it. His own face, lovingly rendered in pencil, looked back at him sternly. He turned the page, and found Bella. On the first 15 pages, drawn lovingly in pencil, was the entirety of his Company. On the next several pages, Bella had sketched Orcrist, Glamdring, and Sting. Thorin reached the title page, and a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“‘There and Back Again: A Hobbit’s Tale by Belladonna Baggins,’” He read, touching the page delicately. “You wrote a book about the journey?”

Bella nodded, embarrassed now in her turn. “I know Ori was the group chronicler, but I thought it must have made for rather dry reading. My version is a bit more suited to, well, reading,” she explained, blushing furiously. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for a courting gift, it felt a little too self-indulgent.”

Thorin shook his head slowly. “Bella, I gave you a crown, and you think recording my quest to reclaim Erebor is self-indulgent? This gift shows that you are an artist and a writer, two things which are respected among my people. And,” he continued, looking at her with such love that she almost couldn’t bear it. “It is the story of how we met. Nothing could be more appropriate.”

“So, you accept?” Bella’s heart hammered in her chest.

“I accept,” he agreed, setting the book on his lap and cupping her face in his hands.


	6. Out of The Shire and Into The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin is oddly considerate (though not that considerate).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! This chapter has been giving me hell for weeks now, so unloading it is actually a bit of a relief. It's been through a ton of edits, so hopefully you all enjoy it. I've updated the tags for this fic a bit, and I may upgrade the rating (depending on how many more edits chapters 9 and 12 go through...) Thanks to the ever patient Niffstral for tolerating my tendency to flip sentences around.
> 
> On a shameless self-promotion note, I wrote two one shots, which if you enjoy this story, you might also like. The first one is another fem!Bilbo, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1287919 , and the second one is not, and can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1286518 . There is a distinct possibility that I will write more for the second one.
> 
> Lastly, a reminder that if you want to chat, or see me whine about writing, I tumbl at lindoreda.tumblr.com. Enjoy!

Thorin braided the engagement bead back into Bella’s hair, and she bit back a sigh of relief when it was done. She had not felt right, the three days she had been without it. It took a bit longer to braid Thorin’s back in, his hair being much longer, but he sat patiently as she did it. It looked a bit odd, she decided. He already had two braids in the front, and the third off to the side didn’t really match. She explained her difficulty, and Thorin’s eyes sparked with an idea.

“When it gets a bit longer, put it in my beard,” he suggested, solving both of their problems.

“Is that… done?” Bella asked hesitantly, feeling her ignorance of dwarven customs keenly.

“It depends on the couple. Usually, you would put yours in your beard as well, but as you don’t have one…” Thorin trailed off, running his fingers along her smooth cheeks.

“I trust that’s not a problem,” Bella replied tartly, and Thorin laughed.

“I fear a preference for smooth faces must run in the line of Durin, given Kili’s predilection for Elves,” he observed wryly, shifting his hand to brush his thumb across Bella’s lips. An involuntary shudder ran through her, and Thorin’s smile turned oddly predatory. “You always intended to accept me, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she agreed. “I wanted to make you work for it, but…” Bella licked her lips nervously, the intensity of his gaze making her a little uncomfortable, forgetting that his thumb was still on the corner of her mouth. Thorin’s eyes clouded over with lust, and Bella knew she wouldn’t be getting out of this one just a little tousled.

Thorin’s mouth closed over hers before she could blink, and Bella struggled to deposit the circlet on the desk before it got crushed by Thorin’s ardour. That was her last coherent thought before Thorin’s tongue was in her mouth and he was pulling her into his lap. She ended up straddling him with her arms around his neck, rather aware that her chairs weren’t built for this. 

Thorin’s hands, which had stayed on either her face or waist, began exploring other regions. They started with relatively chaste areas, like the back of her neck, which she had not expected to be so very sensitive, down her back, tracing the curve of her hips, and then back up, his thumb brushing over a nipple as it made its way back to her neck. Bella inhaled sharply, and she felt Thorin grinning into the kiss. She bit his lower lip lightly and rocked her hips forward, not the least bit surprised when she encountered something rather hard. Thorin practically growled in response, his hands moving to grasp her buttocks, keeping her locked in place.

“Didn’t like that?” Bella asked breathily, batting her eyelashes innocently.

“This chair will fall apart if you provoke me like that, ghivashel,” Thorin replied huskily.

“We don’t have to stay in this chair…” Bella suggested lightly.

Thorin didn’t need to be told twice. They were halfway to the bedroom when there was a heavy knock on the door. Thorin continued carrying Bella, undeterred.

“Thorin!” Bella scolded lightly.

“Ignore it,” he growled.

“It could be Dwalin,” she pointed out, and was rewarded with a snort from Thorin.

“All the more reason to ignore it.”

The knocking grew louder. “I know you’re in there,” came Dwalin’s growl. “Dís promised only to maim you if you came back quietly.”

“He’s going to break the door down,” Bella hissed. “Let me go.” Thorin released her reluctantly, but retreated to one of the inner rooms. Resigned to facing what she assumed was a very irritated royal guard, Bella opened the door quickly to head off anymore destructive knocks. “Dwalin,” Bella sighed. “I knew I saw you yesterday.”

“Where’s Thorin?” Dwalin demanded curtly, entering without ceremony. Bella gestured somewhere behind her, and Dwalin marched off in search of him.

“At least take your boots off!” Bella called after him. She heard shuffling, and then the footsteps were quieter. Bella hesitated, then went to the kitchen. Best to prepare before Dwalin started devastating her cookie jar again.

Khuzdul shouts echoed down the hall, and Bella rolled her eyes. They must have found each other, then. She wondered if they shouted in their native tongue out of habit, or because they didn’t want her to understand. She definitely caught a few untranslatable insults… and something breaking.

“You will fight outside, or you will be civil inside, if you please!” Bella shouted down the hall, and the sounds of a scuffle ceased abruptly. Two rumpled looking dwarves emerged, and Bella frowned at the bruises blooming on Thorin’s jaw and Dwalin’s eye. “Was that really necessary?”

“It was a greeting,” Thorin replied shortly, and Bella raised her eyebrows.

“And what was broken, during this greeting?” She demanded tartly, slamming a frying pan down a bit too hard.

“A vase,” Dwalin grunted.

“And, which of you threw it?” Bella asked pleasantly, watching them both carefully.

“Dwalin did-”

“Thorin did-”

Bella slammed the pan down again, smiling cheerfully at them. “This is a bit childish, don’t you think?” Neither dwarf responded. “Well, I see who Fili and Kili learned from.” No response, though she thought she detected a twitch from both of them. “So, when are we leaving? I need a bit of time to get my affairs in order.”

“You didn’t say she’d be coming,” Dwalin grunted, addressing Thorin instead.

“I will not leave my intended behind,” Thorin snapped.

“I have a name, Dwalin. And eyes, though you will not trouble to meet them,” Bella reminded him sharply, and he met her eyes then angrily.

“Aye, and you had friends in Erebor, though you could not trouble yourself to remember them,” Dwalin spat, and Bella flinched at the accusation. Thorin growled something in Khuzdul and Dwalin looked away.

“It was Balin who lied to Bella, and caused her to leave,” Thorin pointed out in a more even tone.

“True enough,” Dwalin agreed. “Changes nothing, though. Good to know where the rest of us stand.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that to me,” Bella observed with a raised eyebrow, and it was Dwalin’s turn to flinch. “Every member of that company had known each other for years, decades, whole centuries even in some cases! Do you think I wanted to cry and mope and sob whenever I thought of him, in front of people who had a far greater right to grieve? In front of Thorin’s sister, Fili and Kili’s mother?”

“We would have understood,” Dwalin insisted.

“Oh, like you understood me leaving? No, I did not forget my friends in Erebor. They forgot that their King banished me.” It was Thorin’s turn to wince now, and Bella tried not to enjoy the sight of the two shamefaced dwarves in front of her. “So, you are in my home, I am betrothed to your King, may we have some basic civility?”

“Yes, milady,” Dwalin agreed gruffly.

Bella considered this response. “Milady? I suppose that’s better than ‘you.’ So, I’ll ask again. When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow, milady.”

“Hm, I think I can settle things in that time,” Bella mused, setting out food on the table. “Dwalin, enjoy the meal. Thorin, a word?” She nodded toward her study, and Thorin followed.

“I’m impressed,” Thorin admitted when they reached the study.

“By what?” Bella asked curiously, recovering from her temper.

“By how you handled Dwalin. Only Dís has ever cowed him like that,” Thorin elaborated, looking at her with new appreciation. “Now, that will be the end of that matter. He will send word by raven that your leaving was a cultural misunderstanding, and no one will say a word about it again.”

“It’s that simple? Just chalk it up to a cultural misunderstanding?” Bella raised an eyebrow, hardly believing her luck.

“In essence, that is what it was,” Thorin confirmed. “But you have survived your first test as Queen.”

“Oh, is that what that was? Did the two of you plan this?” Bella’s smile had an edge now, and she tapped her foot impatiently.

Thorin shifted uncomfortably. “Not really. He was angry, and the others were too. We all were. He agreed to diffuse the situation if you were able to convince him of your side.”

Bella accepted this reluctantly. “So, we leave tomorrow. I don’t need much, but I don’t know what to do about Bag End. It should not just lie empty, but if I let my family decide, who knows what will happen?” She paced the length of the study fretfully.

“You could keep it,” Thorin suggested. “A Queen can have a summer home or two, and you could lease it to a caretaker in the interim.”

Bella froze. “Of course. I know just the man.” She made for the door. “I will speak to him immediately, please don’t break any more of my crockery while I’m gone.”

“How did you know it was me?” Thorin looked at her curiously.

“I didn’t,” Bella admitted. “You just told me. But also, Dwalin has gotten his entire hand in and out of my cookie jar without damage.” Bella heard a Khuzdul curse as she left, and a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

Thorin waited until he heard the front door close behind her before returning to the kitchen. “Bella said she saw you last night,” Thorin observed, a question in his voice.

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed, his eating pace not slackening.

“Why did you wait until now to come?” He sat down across from his old friend, not touching the food.

“There was no point, so late at night,” Dwalin hedged gruffly. “And, in the morning…”

“In the morning?” Thorin prompted.

“You went to the forge.” Dwalin said it as if it explained everything, and to Thorin, it did.

“You saw what I was making,” Thorin surmised.

“Aye.” Dwalin looked up then, and met Thorin’s eyes steadily. “Dís is waiting in Bree.”

Thorin groaned. “She did not go to Erebor then?”

“We told the lads to send word to Ered Luin about your leaving, but to wait until there was no danger of her intercepting you,” Dwalin reported. “She was still making preparations to move the settlement when word arrived.”

Thorin rubbed his temples tiredly. “So she will be angry that I interrupted her as well.” He took a fortifying bite of food. “Is she angry with Bella as well?”

“No,” Dwalin assured him firmly. “The lads told her that you banished her for disagreeing with you, and she replied that in the lass’s shoes, she would have your beard cut off for the insult.”

“I well believe it,” Thorin agreed grimly. “So they lied to their mother to protect her.” 

“It wasn’t really a lie,” Dwalin pointed out. “You did banish her.”

“Because I needed the reminder,” Thorin muttered. They ate in silence for a time, a silence which was ultimately broken by a question from Dwalin.

“What about the gold?” He almost seemed embarrassed by the question, as if his position as a friend and position as a guard were at war with each other. Dwalin did not like questioning his king, even if no one else was around.

Thorin sighed heavily. “Were my instructions carried out?”

“To the letter,” Dwalin confirmed.

“Then the gold… should not be a problem,” Thorin hedged, uncomfortable with how uncertain he felt. “I have not thought of it since I left.”

“Aye, but what about when it’s right in front of you?” Dwalin grimaced apologetically, as if he hated asking, but knew he must.

“If you followed my instructions, that won’t happen,” Thorin replied testily. “When you send word to Balin, tell him only silver jewelry for the bride.”

Dwalin raised his eyebrows incredulously. “Thorin…”

“I’m fine,” Thorin assured him with a dismissive wave. “But I will not risk going mad again. Erebor will need stability, and I intend to provide it.”

“What about the succession?” Dwalin asked the question with a mouthful of food, his appetite evidently not affected by discussion of Thorin’s sanity.

“It remains unchanged,” Thorin answered firmly, declaring the matter closed. “No matter what happens in my marriage.”

“The lass know that?”

“She does.” Thorin answered decisively, setting down his fork. “She wants Fili to be king after me.” Dwalin gave him a look. “We discussed it when we were engaged before. She understands.”

Bella did understand, pressed against the wall to listen to their conversation as she was. Really, making her children into kings was the last of her concerns after witnessing the bloody reality of kingship. And then there was the matter of the sickness that affected the line of Durin. A sickness that evidently Thorin was still concerned about, and yet he had said nothing to her. 

Only silver jewelry for the wedding? She did not care for such things, but the fact that Thorin would make such an order told her how far he was worried. He had sworn to cover her in gold and jewels as soon as he was able, and while that wasn’t something she wanted or had any interest in, the fact that he wasn’t even going to try was telling.

What awaited her in Erebor?

Bella shook her head, and heading toward her bedroom to pack. She was so distracted though, that she bumped noisily into a chair, alerting the dwarves to her presence. Thorin stiffened, fearing Bella had overheard, but Bella simply announced, “I’m back, everything’s taken care of, but I need to pack.” 

Thorin sighed in relief. “We go by pony,” he reminded her, and Bella tried and failed to fight back a grimace. It was lucky that she needed little, because there was little she would trust to the jolting journey by pony. For the circlet, she found a plain wooden box that was about the right size, and wouldn’t attract attention if someone tried to rob them. More fool those robbers, but still, better to take precautions. Bella hesitated though when it came to her mother’s memory chest. It was the one thing that might be too big for a pony that she could not see herself leaving behind. She had almost forgotten the Ring hidden inside. That wouldn’t do at all.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Bella slammed the lid of the chest shut. She turned to face the intruder into her thoughts: an apologetic Thorin. “You heard the end of my conversation with Dwalin,” he said, without a trace of accusation.

“I did,” Bella agreed, not bothering to correct him.

“We should have discussed the matter again,” he said without preamble. “The situation has changed. I apologize.”

Bella smiled. “You are forgiven. That has to be the easiest apology I have ever received from you. But really, there was nothing to discuss. Watching you nearly die was not going to fill me with a desire to make my children into kings. Kingship is not a very pretty thing, as it turns out.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that,” Thorin admitted wryly. “But you are more important than my pride.” He returned to the kitchen, and Bella was grateful. Still kneeling on the floor, she had forgotten the chest, and the Ring. Maybe diplomacy wouldn’t be completely impossible after all, if he could be convinced to forget his pride more often.

Bella ran over her preparations in her mind. The Gamgees would move into Bag End, everything was out of the museum, and by now half of Hobbiton would know that Belladonna Baggins was leaving again. This time, to be married. She was almost surprised that no busybody neighbors had come by to demand why there had been no official announcement, or invitations. Certainly Lobelia would be properly offended, Bella reasoned, pausing in the middle of folding. 

Did she want her neighbors to harass her? Did she want Lobelia to harangue her? No, but she was leaving, and she wanted to know that… that her leaving meant something to anyone there. It shouldn’t matter. Her broken heart was healed, and she was leaving with Thorin, and Thorin would be King, and everything that anyone could have dreamed of at the start of their journey was coming true… But Bella’s friends and neighbors, the people she had grown up alongside would never understand.

Bella shook her head. It would not do to dwell on it. Maybe the children would understand. She was marrying a King after all. There were enough fairy stories about that.

“No.” Bella spoke aloud firmly. “Stop being silly.”

It took a while longer before she was able to stop thinking about it. Still no one came, but it was getting late. There would be no time for visitors in the morning, so Bella resigned herself to leaving with even less fanfare than before. Not that she wanted fanfare. She was a Baggins, and Bagginses had no need for fanfare.

Tooks on the other hand…

Bella slept poorly. They rose early, and Bella dressed once again in a waistcoat and trousers, putting her skirts at the bottom of the memory chest, which it turned out, did fit on one of the ponies. She stared groggily ahead, not even having the strength to object as Thorin lifted her onto her pony without warning. They had almost passed out of Hobbiton proper, when Bella looked back for what she hoped would not be her last sight of it, and reined the pony in suddenly. They were being followed by a pack of children, and Bella had been so out of it that she hadn’t noticed their teary farewells.

“What are all of you doing here? Out of bed?” Bella asked dazedly.

“Are you really leaving, Miss Bella?” A crying girl asked, staring up at her with giant eyes.

“Yes,” she admitted with a nod. “But I’ll be back! I can’t say when, but I will be. And I will finish the story then.”

“Do you promise?” They chorused hopefully, and Bella knew she was caught.

“Yes, I promise,” Bella agreed with a grimace, trying not to wonder what kind of faces the dwarves were making behind her. They seemed to accept this, and most of the children dispersed, but one approached, carrying a note.

“Mrs. Lobelia told me to give you this, Ms. Bella,” the child explained, quivering with the effort of trying to follow his etiquette lessons.

“Thank you my lad,” she replied with a smile, taking the note and unrolling it. It only contained one sentence: ‘Don’t you dare shame this family, Belladonna Baggins!’ Bella couldn’t help smiling.

“Is all well?” Thorin asked curiously, noting the change in her expression.

Bella rolled the note back up, putting it securely in her saddle bags. “Better, actually. I think I have my family’s blessing. So, shall we go?”


	7. Not So Queer Lodgings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella never thought she'd meet anyone who enjoyed awkwardness as much as Dís.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter. It's been lovely hearing from you all, and your continued support is appreciated! That said... You'll notice I updated the tags on the fic. The words "fluff and smut" should stick out. You've been warned. I don't write sex scenes particularly explicitly (or particularly well, if you ask me), yet I insist on writing them, so keep that in mind going forward. Thanks to Niffstral for putting up with my endless complaints about how I write sex scenes, and making them better.
> 
> Also, a quick note about distances. I'm using theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm as a reference, so keep that in mind if time and distance don't seem to match what happened in the Hobbit. They traveled really slowly. Like really slowly. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Sleeping on the road seemed a great deal easier without Bombur’s snoring, or the fear that had driven Bella on her journey home. She supposed, under duress, she might admit that being ensconced in Thorin’s fur-lined jacket helped more than the lack of the other two. Bella had always slept very carefully with the Company. Carefully apart, as a reminder that she was both a stranger and a woman, but still somehow in the center of their arrangements, for protection. With just the three of them on the road, and with circumstances so drastically different from last time, Bella had not known what to do the first night.

Thorin had solved that problem. When they had prepared to settle in for the night, Bella had hesitantly unrolled her bedroll near the fire, and Thorin had immediately placed his beside hers. There had been a brief staring match between Thorin and Dwalin (who was evidently their chaperone), and eventually Dwalin had rolled his eyes and looked away, and Thorin laid down next to Bella and wrapped his arms around her securely. It had been markedly more comfortable than she expected, considering he slept with his armor on.

It was also extremely warm. It was late summer in the Shire, and between her bedroll, the fire, Thorin’s furs, and Thorin himself, Bella was grateful that her own armor was light and thin. It wasn’t enough to make the nights not sweltering, but Thorin, she was convinced, must be hotter. She deliberately ignored his comfort in forges when coming to this conclusion.

Bella almost wished the rest of the company was with them, though. Thorin and Dwalin would talk a little, but it was usually in Khuzdul, and based on the furtive glances Thorin would send in her direction, she got the impression that he was trying to determine how much she could understand. Very little, as it turned out. Talking to Dwalin was generally unrewarding, and talking to Thorin felt a little awkward with Dwalin watching them like a hawk, so they kept to very neutral subjects, and it felt like a much earlier time in their acquaintance. It was as if Dwalin thought looking away for a single moment would be inviting them to start snogging on horseback. Bella snorted at the thought. She did not need a chaperone, and even if she did, she was still not comfortable enough on horseback to even lean slightly to the left or right, let alone grab Thorin for a snog.

Though she was almost tempted, if it would break up the monotony. A dwarf scuffle would be more interesting than riding in silence for days. Falling off the pony would also be more interesting, but it would prolong the journey.

Bella sighed. They had left the Shire behind, and Bree was still hours away. They wouldn’t make it to Bree if she had to endure the awkwardness much longer. It was time to brave Dwalin’s disapproving stare.

“Why is it,” Bella began, “That it feels less like Dwalin is here as an escort, and more that he is here as a chaperone?” She watched Thorin’s expression carefully. “Not that I mind the company.” By both Hobbit and Dwarf customs, technically they did need a chaperone, but having gone days at Bag End without one, it seemed silly to have one now.

“Dís’ orders,” Dwalin grunted, and at Bella’s exasperated look, Thorin elaborated.

“Punishment for the trouble I put her and Fíli to,” he explained apologetically. “I would try to shake him, but I’m told I have no sense of direction.” A glare at Dwalin accompanied that statement, and Bella decided to let the matter rest for now.

“How did you make it to Bag End so quickly then? I thought Dwalin would have caught you if you got lost,” Bella wondered aloud, and Thorin grimaced.

“I did get lost. Several times,” Thorin admitted reluctantly.

“The lads kept the secret for two weeks,” Dwalin related with a grim smile. “Not a bad head start.”

Bella was almost impressed. She wondered how they managed it. Probably by dressing Kíli up as Thorin and putting him in the bed whenever someone came to check on him. She shook her head, grinning. That didn’t seem like a convincing ruse. Kíli would eventually slip up. Throwing things at the door and imitating his voice to keep people out seemed like it would work for longer, but not for more than a few days. And none of these plans seemed like they would work on Dwalin or Balin, so they obviously weren’t what they did. She would have to ask them when they made it to Erebor. 

Having opened the lines of communication, Bella wasn’t going to relinquish them. “So, how were things in Erebor when you left? Gandalf told me a little, but that was a few months ago.” She left the question open to both dwarves, and was surprised when they both made nearly identical grimaces.

“Assuming no one lied to me when I was awake,” Thorin began, meeting Dwalin’s eyes for confirmation, “Rebuilding goes apace, both in Erebor and Dale. The dwarves of the Iron Hills-”

“Have made themselves comfortable,” Dwalin grumbled. The displeasure in both of their voices surprised her. Weren’t the dwarves of the Iron Hills their kin?

“I’m sensing some resentment,” Bella observed with a twinge of sarcasm. “Without them, who knows how things would have gone?”

“I know,” Thorin admitted grudgingly. “But they would not aid us in retaking Erebor, appearing only when the dragon was gone, and they act as though they are the heroes of the day.”

“They were,” Bella pointed out. “But just of the day. The Company members are the heroes of much more.”

Both dwarves seemed appeased by this answer. Bella wished she could have gotten more out of them about Erebor, which after all of her trouble, she had seen little of. Then again, Thorin had been bedridden, and Dwalin had probably been nearby for most of that time, so maybe they didn’t know?

“Did all of the members of the Company remain in Erebor?” The question occurred to Bella suddenly. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur at least were Blue Mountain dwarves, and not from the line of Durin, so they didn’t really have a reason to stay. As a matter of fact, only Thorin and Balin had been born in Erebor. The others didn’t have the same kind of stake in its recovery.

“All except you,” Thorin confirmed. Bella frowned at him.

“I knew that I didn’t stay when I asked the question, thank you very much,” She replied tartly. “Maybe I am asking the wrong dwarves. Neither of you seem to have much information.”

“It’s better if you see it for yourself, lass,” was Dwalin’s utterly unhelpful reply.

Bella was about to continue chastising the pair of them when she noticed the dark speck that was Bree in the distance. Bree was not a very cheery place, but the sight of it was enough to put a spring in her step… were she walking instead of riding. It seemed strange that it had the opposite on Thorin, who seemed to be dragging his heels the entire way there… again, had he been walking instead of riding.

“Dís is waiting for us in Bree,” he admitted as the city came closer. “Knowing that I have earned whatever it is she has to say does not make it a more pleasant prospect.”

“Is she going to make the rest of the journey with us then?” Bella wondered if it would be more pleasant with another companion. She and Dís probably had a lot to talk about, and unlike her conversations with Thorin, they probably wouldn’t be something she didn’t want Dwalin to hear.

“She is still preparing to move the settlement in Ered Luin,” Thorin explained. “And when she does, it will be a large, slow-moving group. No, she will not be joining us.” 

He raised an eyebrow at Bella’s disappointed expression. “You haven’t even met my sister, and you already prefer her company to mine?”

“This is the first time there’s been decent conversation in days,” she reminded him. “You and Dwalin converse almost exclusively in Khuzdul, which I’m sure is lovely but awfully rude. Dwalin has never been easy to talk to, no offense,” she added, and Dwalin waved a hand dismissively. “And meanwhile, you generally ride along in stony silence, reminding me a great deal of the Thorin who would only call me “Miss Baggins,” or “burglar.””

Thorin looked oddly flustered at this description, looking everywhere except at Bella. Bella rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me, you don’t know how to talk to me now that we’re engaged and Dwalin’s watching. You do recall we were engaged before.” The reminder was meant to be gentle, but Thorin’s expression turned wry.

“And that went very well. Possibly the shortest engagement in my people’s history.” He met her eyes to show that he was trying to make a joke, not revisit old grievances, and Bella laughed. “I can’t help it, ghivashel. You make me nervous,” he admitted quietly.

Bella was startled. “I make you nervous? Why?”

The question flustered him even more. “W-well, that is… I mean you…” Bella didn’t think she’d ever seen him so unable to form a sentence.

“I?” She prompted him gently, and Thorin seemed to collect himself.

“I never know what you’re going to do. You always surprise me,” he admitted.

“And that makes you nervous?” Bella asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course it does!” Thorin said it like it was obvious. “I came all this way in anger, only for you to burst into tears at the sight of me. Everything I intended to say was forgotten, and instead I was swearing to do right by you, and earn your forgiveness. I feel that despite that promise, I have done nothing to earn it, and yet you are here. It is confusing.”

There were many things Bella could have said to that. Reassurances that how relaxed he had been, his gentle demeanor, and his simple acceptance of her hobbit ways had all been excellent ways of earning her forgiveness, by demonstrating his trust and contrition. But there was a slight pang of guilt in her heart, and anyway they had finally reached Bree’s main gate. It wasn’t really the place to continue such a conversation. A gloom seemed to have settled over the air as they entered, and Bella wondered if the sun ever shone in Bree.

She was immediately uncomfortable when she dismounted her pony, surrounded by tall folk for the first time in months. Most didn’t even see her, and she was almost knocked into the mud several times. No one even came close to Thorin and Dwalin, she noticed bitterly. The dwarves were just tall and heavily armed enough to require the attention of the tall folk, and after her third almost-trip onto the ground, Bella abandoned what little pride she had and grabbed Thorin’s arm. She immediately found herself pressed to his side, and she looked up in time to see the grin that flashed across his face.

“Best wipe that off your face before your sister sees,” Bella muttered just loud enough for Thorin to hear. “You are supposed to be ashamed of your foolishness.”

Dwalin said something to Thorin in Khuzdul that sounded like agreement with Bella, but it was too late, they had already entered the Prancing Pony. There were already rooms ready for them, the innkeeper informed them, as members of Dís’ party. It had been four days now since she had slept with a wall separating her from Thorin, Bella realized. It would certainly be less warm, but would she be able to sleep at all?

They were led to a private parlor, and there Bella got her first look at the Princess of Erebor. Dís bore a very strong resemblance to Thorin, with just a bit more softness in the lines of her face and a closer cropped beard. She was even dressed like Thorin, though Bella remembered something about female dwarves dressing as men when they went out of the mountains. It was no surprise then that when she saw Bella and said, “So this is the Hobbit,” in a rich contralto, Bella had flashbacks to a similar meeting.

“Er, yes. Belladonna Baggins, at your service,” Bella replied with a curtsey, remembering her manners. It sounded like Thorin was choking on something behind her.

One of Dís’ slim eyebrows came up. “Oh really? It looks more like you are at my brother’s service.”

“He has caused a great deal of trouble on my account, so I suppose if I could do anything to resolve any of it…” Bella admitted, swatting at Thorin’s hand on her shoulder, which was squeezing it in warning.

The eyebrow retreated, and Dís smiled slightly, in a way that reminded Bella very much of Thorin. “Well, at least one of you is sensible. I can almost forgive his foolishness, under the circumstances.” She said something in Khuzdul to Thorin, and his reply was subdued. Whatever he said, she seemed to accept, because Dís nodded regally and made her way past Bella, out of the parlor. She grasped Bella’s shoulder briefly. “We will have much to discuss, but you are tired. Relax, for now.”

Bella was surprised to find herself alone with Thorin in the parlor. Dwalin had stepped out with Dís, apparently. “What did she say?” She asked Thorin curiously, and turned to face him.

“She wanted to know why I had gone to the trouble of reclaiming Erebor if I was going to run away from being King at the first opportunity,” Thorin replied neutrally, leading Bella to a couch.

“And what did you tell her?” Bella took Thorin’s hand gently once they were seated, tracing the lines on his palm. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a fond smile, and he covered her hand with his other one. “I told her that retrieving my Queen was not running away from being King, but rather embracing it.”

Bella snorted. “No apology, huh?” Not that she expected him to give one.

“A King must be careful in his apologies,” Thorin hedged. “I may have inconvenienced her sons, but Dís did not need to get involved. She just wanted to scold me.” He looked very pleased with himself, Bella reflected wryly. It truly was terrible how well smugness suited his face.

“If she wanted to scold you, why has she left us alone? I thought your sister had taken it upon herself to make sure we do things properly,” Bella pointed out. She realized that her hand now sat upon Thorin’s thigh, and the hand that she had taken initially was now slowly working its’ way around her back.

“I believe in the Shire, you referred to that as an unnecessary formality,” Thorin reminded her, slowly drawing her closer and savoring their unobserved physical closeness.

“And yet, Dwalin.” Bella allowed herself to be pulled in, soon finding herself on Thorin’s lap. “You’re still wearing armor,” she observed wistfully. Her hands could feel nothing of his chest through it, and she missed the feel of his firm muscles beneath her fingers.

“You could help me remove it,” Thorin suggested, trying to sound light. With his eyes burning with need, it was not terribly successful. 

Whatever reply Bella might have made to that very enticing offer died in her throat when their chaperones returned with dinner. There were very few ways one could interpret Bella straddling Thorin. Dwalin’s expression said more than the Khuzdul curses he directed Thorin’s way; Bella had never seen a face so clearly say “I left you alone for 5 minutes!” Dís on the other hand was amused, and, she suspected, triumphing at Thorin’s expense. Thorin had admitted to catching his sister in similarly compromising positions...

Bella tried to get back onto the couch gracefully, and a very awkward dinner commenced: Bella blushing and looking at her plate, only occasionally glancing up, Dwalin glowering at Thorin, Thorin glowering at Dís, and Dís looking like she hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Bella did not know Dís, but watching her changes in expression over the course of the meal, she wondered if perhaps Dís felt she had humiliated her brother enough, for she had the expression of someone readying herself to grant a boon.

“Thorin,” Dís said eventually, breaking the thoroughly awkward silence. “As lovely as it is to reacquaint myself with your scowls, I think we can make things a little easier.” Dís glanced at Bella as she said this, and Bella felt gratitude directed her way. “I will make you a deal.”

Thorin’s expression lost some of its hardness, becoming merely wary. “I’m listening.” Bella was reminded of Thorin’s audience with Thranduil, though he was not radiating hatred this time.

“Some alone time with your betrothed,” Dís offered. Bella’s heart leapt in her throat. “You are both adults, and as you did not tell father about certain… indiscretions during my younger, more foolish days, and as I think you have chosen sensibly, I am prepared to look the other way.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “In exchange for…?”

“Take me to Erebor with you.” Dís met Thorin’s eyes unblinkingly. “The dwarves of Ered Luin are already on their way there.”

Thorin wanted badly to object. Dís should be leading their people to Erebor, and he did not really want to bicker all the way there, but… He glanced at Bella. She was looking at him like he was a fool for not already agreeing. Dwalin seemed to agree with her. He probably enjoyed chaperoning his king even less than Thorin liked being chaperoned.

“Anything else?” Thorin knew his sister. She was going to get as much out of this as she could. 

Dís smiled, and said two words in Khuzdul. Bella understood the words, but she did not know what they had to do with the present situation. “‘No stabbing?’” Bella translated, tilting her head in confusion. Dís snorted, Dwalin looked like he wanted to be miles away, and Thorin actually blushed.

“You know some Khuzdul,” Dís observed in surprise. “Though you seem to be lacking in some of the subtleties. I would be happy to continue your instruction on the road, that is, if my brother will agree to my terms?”

Thorin knew when he was beaten. “Agreed.”

Dís handed him a key and smiled. “Excellent. I will go make my preparations for the journey. Enjoy the privacy.” And then she was leaving again, practically dragging Dwalin by the arm. The key led to one of the bedrooms Dís had booked, and Bella flushed at the implication. True, she wanted time alone with Thorin. True, some of that time alone needed to be… of an intimate nature. But it was extremely awkward that their time alone had to be brokered through his younger sister.

“What did she mean when she said I was lacking in some of the subtleties?” Bella asked finally, seeking a clarification on her evidently faulty translation. Thorin, removing his armor, did not answer immediately, suddenly very engrossed in the task. The back of his neck was still bright red.

“It was accurate in the literal sense, but as her statement was intended euphemistically, some of that was lost in translation,” Thorin eventually explained when he was down to fewer layers of clothing.

Bella considered this new information, along with how everyone had reacted to her translation. Suddenly, everything clicked into place, and her blush deepened. “She was telling you not to put… Orcrist, into my… sheath,” Bella stammered out hesitantly, her hobbit sensibilities revolting at the notion of being too plain-spoken in such a matter.

Bella’s awkward euphemism seemed to break the spell of discomfort that had covered them since leaving Hobbiton though, because Thorin burst out laughing. It was not a chuckle or a smirk, but a full-on belly laugh, the likes of which Bella did not think she had seen from Thorin, ever. He had his hands on his knees and was gasping for breath, and Bella did not think she had been that funny, but let it go. Thorin was wiping tears out of his eyes when he straightened up, and he pulled her into his arms. The amusement in his eyes acquired a strange intensity, and it made Bella’s stomach do flip flops. Her hands found the hard muscles of his chest, and if her face could get any warmer, it did. It was the closest they had been to being skin-to-skin in days.

And, if they did not stop in any of the areas controlled by Elves, it would be the closest they would be until Lake Town, Bella realized. There would be no privacy in the open air, that was for certain. A fierce desperation seized her, the strangeness of the situation forgotten, and Bella wrapped her arms around Thorin’s neck, pressing them closer together.

“I’ve missed this, âzyungel,” Thorin murmured. Bella felt the rumble of his voice in his chest, and it sent a flash of heat through her veins.

“I have too,” she admitted. “It is not as though Dwalin watching us could prevent what has already happened. By Shire standards, we have been quite debauched already, so why impose restriction now?” Thorin’s chuckle sent another wave of desire through her, and Bella decided to stop playing coy. She tilted her face towards him in invitation and he needed no further encouragement. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, and before long they were stumbling backward onto the bed.

Though Thorin was practically shaking with barely repressed desire, his touch was gentle, exploring Bella’s soft curves in a way that was almost reverent. Bella had expected her clothes to vanish almost immediately, as she was still wearing her mithril armor, which meant she could feel little and Thorin could probably feel less, but he seemed to be waiting for permission to strip her. Like their first kiss in the Shire, Bella realized, grinning a little into Thorin’s kisses. Even though she had practically jumped him several times, he was hesitant about boundaries. Dwarves did like everything spelled out, she supposed. She was going to have to take the initiative.

Bella took one of Thorin’s hands, sliding it underneath the mithril so that his hand found the soft, creamy skin underneath. Thorin was not a man who needed to be told twice. Bella was soon shivering, her top half completely exposed as Thorin’s large, warm hands did truly terrible things to her belly, breasts and collarbone.

Truly, truly terrible.

Bella decided to return the favor, tugging at the hem of Thorin’s tunic until he relented and let her pull it off. Up close, she was almost impressed by the amount of hair on his chest, running her fingers through it curiously until Thorin groaned.

“What?” She asked, startled by his reaction. “Did I pull something?” She squinted, trying to see better in the darkness, and realized that her fingers had brushed against the top of a long, white scar that terminated below the hemline of his trousers. The wound that almost killed him, she realized immediately. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, kissing the scar gently.

Thorin hissed. “It doesn’t hurt,” he reassured her quickly. “It’s just… sensitive.”

Bella ran her fingers down the scar experimentally, enjoying hearing Thorin short of breath. She stopped when she realized that she had followed the scar into his trousers without any thought, and that… Orcrist, as she now insisted on referring to it as, was pressing rather insistently into the open palm of her exploring hand. Maybe that was why Thorin was panting a bit harder. Bella adjusted her hand to get a grip on the shaft, but Thorin stopped her, taking her hand.

“Not this time,” he said with visible effort. “I want to watch you.”

“Watch me what?” Bella asked, noticing Thorin hadn’t released her. Instead of answering, he moved her hand the scant inches between their hips, slipping it into the front of her trousers, though his hand remained outside. “Oh,” Bella breathed, understanding dawning. A strange boldness overtook her, and she said, “You won’t be able to see anything from there,” shucking off what was left of her clothes. It would only be after that Bella’s Baggins side would emerge and remind her to be embarrassed at having stripped naked and touched herself intimately while Thorin looked on. That he appeared to be enjoying it (if the fact that he was doing the same was any indication) would only add to the mortification.

But those were problems for tomorrow.


	8. Khuzdul and Wargs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road from Bree to Rivendell is improved a great deal by having someone pleasant to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have entered what I like to call the Linguistics boner chapters. This chapter is a lot of Bell and Dís getting to know each other, as well as Bella's inner monologue, so it's not the most exciting chapter... but chapter 9 will probably make up for that. Thanks again to Niffstral for not rolling her eyes too hard when she got these chapters from me.
> 
> Another quick self-promotion note: I wrote another oneshot, an reincarnation AU because I have to acknowledge BOFA at some point right? I haven't gotten much feedback on it, so I'd really appreciate it if you checked it out!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

They were on the road again the next morning. Bella, puffy-eyed and too embarrassed to make eye contact, Thorin just a little bit smug, Dís amused and well-rested, and Dwalin disgusted with the lot of them. It was hours before Bella could focus on anything other than the night before, and occasionally during her Khuzdul lessons, a memory would pop into her head, and she would blush and miss something important. Whenever this would happen, Dís’ amusement would grow, but so would Thorin’s smugness. At least her inattention wasn’t insulting her teacher, Bella mused with a silent sigh. And if Thorin wasn’t worried about giving Dís more material to work with, well… He was the expert when it came to his sister, she supposed.

Bella was not a virgin, yet she could not remember the last time she had felt so positively embarrassed about what was a very harmless sexual activity. Hobbits in their tweens were known after all for being a little impulsive (okay, very impulsive), which was part of why Hobbits who were of age were very carefully watched during courting, because such impulsiveness was no longer respectable. Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze upon her that night, that inspired a blush whenever she thought of it. It was a look she had never seen before, and remembering it put her back in that moment, which was bad when she was trying to learn Khuzdul from Thorin’s sister. His tendency to use Khuzdul endearments did not make focusing on lessons any easier-

“Ghivashel.” Thorin’s voice in her ear snapped her out of the memory, though she was blushing hotly. “You are steering your pony into a tree.”

Bella reined in her pony quickly, encouraging her back onto the path. The pony must have been daydreaming too, to have allowed such a thing. 

Thorin’s smugness had morphed into amusement, and she met his eyes defiantly. It was not as though he had any right to be smug, after all. She had not been reduced to this pitiable state by his skill at lovemaking, seeing as they had not made love, she reminded herself firmly. 

_She cried out as Thorin caught her nipple between his teeth-_

Quite enough of that. Bella shook her head, and managed to smack herself in the face with the bead on the end of her braid. “Oh you insufferable dwarf,” she muttered, tapping her pony’s sides with her heels to urge her forward, leaving a bewildered-looking Thorin behind. He said something in Khuzdul to Dwalin, and Bella turned to Dís for a translation.

“Oh, I assumed because what he said was so simple you would understand it, but I forgot that my brother and Dwalin hardly ever speak standard Khuzdul,” she admitted, much to Bella’s surprise.

“They don’t?”

Dís nodded. “They have known each other for a very long time, so their Khuzdul is a lot of shorthand and colloquialisms. It’s faster for them to communicate that way, which is why you may have noticed they don’t use Westron much,” she explained. “They aren’t doing it because they don’t want you to understand.” Dís glanced back at them. “Well, probably.”

Bella nodded slowly in understanding. Khuzdul was a secret language after all, so she supposed she could consider their willingness to speak it in front of her as a sign of their comfort with her. The Company had communicated mostly in Westron, with the obvious exception of Bifur. “So what did he say?”

Dís smirked. “Well, after converting it into standard Khuzdul, Thorin asked Dwalin, “What did I do?” though what he actually said was more like “what do,” because of the number of syllables he omitted.” Dís repeated both versions in Khuzdul so that Bella could see the difference. “Dwalin replied that he didn’t know what Thorin did, but it must have been something, but all he technically said was “something.””

Bella considered this. “So, is it safe to say that when you’re at that point, a lot of the conversation is nonverbal or context-dependent?”

“Exactly,” Dís agreed. “That means that even when we have you more up to speed, you still may not understand what is being said because of those elements, but you seem good with languages. I’m sure you will manage.” She said it so flippantly that Bella wondered what she had done to deserve this level of faith in her. They had spoken only very briefly the night before, after all, yet Dís’ initial reaction to her was the polar opposite of what Thorin’s had been. Maybe that meant Dís was doomed to dislike her.

“That’s… comforting, I think,” Bella muttered, and Dís changed the subject.

“What kind of name is Belladonna, anyway?” She asked curiously, without intending offense. At least, Bella assumed so. Dís spoke in the same self-assured way that Thorin did, that suggested they felt they could do no wrong.

“It was my mother’s name,” Bella admitted. “All Hobbit-lasses are named after plants, so there’s that too.”

“What manner of plant is it? It sounds familiar, but I cannot remember how.” Dís scratched her chin thoughtfully.

“It’s a poison,” Bella told her wryly. “In small amounts it can be beneficial, but in larger amounts, it becomes hallucinogenic, and then deadly. It’s a very plain looking plant as well, no bright colors or anything to tell you that it’s poisonous. Not a very pretty flower to be named after.”

Dís seemed startled. “Really? A poisonous plant? That seems rather unusual for such a gentle folk.”

“My mother was a Took, and they’re a fairly unusual family,” Bella agreed. She glanced at Thorin as she answered, noticing that he too seemed surprised. Really, you would think travelling dwarves would know more about what not to eat! It was a wonder he wasn’t dead ten times over by now.

“It seems fitting though,” Dís decided. “There is more to you than meets the eye. I have heard a bit about all of the times you rescued my helpless brother.” Thorin almost fell off his pony.

“Helpless?!” He demanded, and was blatantly ignored.

“I’m sure some exaggeration was involved,” Bella insisted, suspecting her sources were Fíli and Kíli. “I was just lucky most of the time.”

“Luck is not a useless thing, and not everyone has it,” Dís pointed out. “Learning to take advantage of good luck is a skill like any other. Thorin has atrocious luck, so perhaps it was the will of Mahal.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself.

Bella did not think much of this theory, or of the idea that she had really done all that much… No more than any other member of the company would have done, surely. But Thorin clearly had some apprehensions about his sister, so, Bella decided not to push the matter further.

The time seemed to go less slowly now, with a travelling companion who was more than willing to talk at length. Between Khuzdul lessons and being grilled on a variety of subjects (Thorin’s courting gifts, that dreadful banishing business, Hobbit customs), the miles and days passed pleasantly. If Thorin felt a little ignored by his Intended, he swallowed that feeling, reminding himself that Dís was neither shouting nor throwing axes, and that was a good thing. Moreover, she clearly approved of the Hobbit, so as far as he was concerned, getting the rest of Erebor to accept Bella would be a simple matter.

And if it wasn’t, at least what remained of his family approved. Little else mattered. He could always abdicate in favor of Fíli if having a Hobbit Queen was too destabilizing.

He did not tell his sister this. After almost two centuries of exile from Erebor, he could not admit that it was not a home without Bella. He could not admit that after achieving everything he had sought to achieve, it still wasn’t enough.

One afternoon, Bella noticed a hill in the distance, crowned with ruins. “Weathertop,” she murmured, remembering her last journey this way. On the way back from Erebor, she had stopped at Weathertop, having time now to do as she pleased, and curious about the ruins. She had found skeletons, and warg fur, some of it white. The reminder, however small, of Azog had been more than enough. Bella had run from that place in a hurry. 

“I don’t like the look of that place,” Dís admitted, following Bella’s gaze. “Can we camp out of sight of that hill?” She asked Thorin, turning in the saddle to face him.

“Agreed,” Thorin replied with a nod. “It is too exposed.” He didn’t add his own apprehensions, that anyone on the hill could see them strolling across the plains, but they picked up the pace anyway.

That night, the howls of Wargs rent the peace of the plains, and Bella was very glad they had avoided Weathertop, and made it into the woods. They ventured further into the woods with no signs of pursuit, so perhaps the Wargs had been a coincidence. It seemed unlikely, but it was not as though every Orc and Warg present at the Battle of the Five Armies had been killed. Some escaped, and could have fled back to an old base, Bella reasoned. And it was not as though every evil thing in Middle Earth had been present at the battle. It was not a particularly cheering thought.

“Are we stopping in Rivendell?” She finally worked up the courage to ask, looking at Thorin and Dís for confirmation. Not that the Elves would want them back, but a night of safety and good rest would be beneficial.

Dwalin and Thorin both grimaced, but Dís was contemplative. “If there are Wargs on the road, we should take advantage of any safe place that we can,” she said finally, looking at Thorin for confirmation.

Thorin sighed, but agreed. “We do not have the numbers to fight an Orc pack, and the Elves do, and that is the only reason.” For once, no one pressed him or argued.

The mood of their journey shifted once again. The threat of attack, and the prospect of being housed by the Elves, had put Thorin and Dwalin on edge. Instead of riding along in two pairs, they now rode in a diamond formation, with Thorin in front, Dwalin in back, and the women in the middle. Khuzdul lessons continued, but other chatter largely ceased in favor of shooting the landscape furtive glances. When they reached Trollshaw this time, they kept moving, though Dís clearly wanted to take a closer look at the stone trolls, and the troll horde. The sight of them seemed to solidify in her mind the idea that they would have been lost without Bella, and she would no longer except “they exaggerated” as an answer.

“I heard from a reliable source that you told the trolls that the rest of the company had parasites,” Dís recalled, glancing over her shoulder at the increasingly distant forms.

“I had very little time to think,” Bella admitted, with an apologetic look at Thorin’s back. “Telling them the company would taste bad didn’t seem to bother them as much as I had hoped.”

“My sons’ negligence caused the entire incident, so I won’t complain about what you had to do to get them out of it,” Dís said frankly. Thorin glanced back sharply at this, as though this was news to him.

“They were supposed to be watching the ponies,” Bella reminded him. “When I arrived with dinner, two ponies were missing, and somehow they missed a troll walking in and uprooting the trees. I suggested they tell you what happened, and instead they sent me to get the ponies back. What did they tell you?”

Thorin sighed. “They said you brought dinner, and while they were eating two of the ponies vanished and before they could stop you, you ran off to get them back,” he explained in a very put-upon way.

“And you believed them?” Dís said with a raised eyebrow. “You know they will say anything to get themselves out of trouble.”

“I was perhaps… too eager to believe the fault lay with our burglar,” Thorin admitted.

“The fact that you still believed that tells me you haven’t taken the time to read my book,” Bella sniffed. That part at least was finished. Thorin at least had the good grace to look embarrassed, though his back was to Bella so she couldn’t see it.

“There hasn’t been time,” he hedged. He did not turn to face her, but the set of his shoulders betrayed guilt.

"Nor will there be time once we arrive in Erebor," Bella pointed out. "You will be far too busy... Kinging." Not exactly a word, but it would have to do for now. Thorin laughed.

“Perhaps you could read it to us, every time we camp for the night,” Dís suggested. “I would be interested in hearing more about the kinds of dangers Thorin exposed my boys to.” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said this, but Bella suspected it was not a completely benign one.

“They are both adults, capable of making their own choices,” Thorin said firmly. This was an old argument, Bella realized as she saw Dís stiffen in the saddle.

“You did not always treat them that way,” Bella pointed out, trying to stop the argument before it started. “Thorin tried to keep them away from danger, when he could. I think they resented it a little.” She directed this comment at Dís, but did not look away from Thorin’s back. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and Dís seemed calmer too.

Which was fortunate, because Bella knew they were approaching the secret entrance to Rivendell. What they would do with the ponies, she did not know, because they definitely couldn’t fit through the secret path, but she didn’t want to just abandon them. There was another entrance to Rivendell, but not knowing it rather made the choice for them. They unloaded the ponies reluctantly, and left them to graze outside, hoping they wouldn’t wander too far, or get eaten by Wargs, before setting off. 

Bella did not know how they would be received. Thorin had stayed here briefly with Gandalf, she recalled, but she was not Gandalf, and she didn’t have his influence with the Elves. After the mess the dwarves had made before, Elrond would probably be justified asking them very politely to turn around and get eaten by Wargs.

“How did Lord Elrond receive you last time?” Bella finally asked Thorin as they made their way through the narrow passages.

“With congratulations for retaking Erebor with relatively little harm done, and for putting aside petty differences to work with the Elves and Men,” Thorin related. He shifted uncomfortably. “I did not have the heart to tell him that you were more responsible for that, and Gandalf did not contradict him.”

Dís snorted. “You are King now, Thorin. You must learn to get used to accepting responsibility for what your subordinates do, be it good or bad.”

“Bella is not my subordinate. I was not, as she hastened to remind me, her King,” Thorin said frankly. Bella almost flinched at the memory he was invoking. She would not be able to use that an excuse for disobeying again, she realized. When they wed, he would be her King.

“I was acting rather counter to his orders too,” Bella said softly, but Dís didn’t seem to hear her. Bella turned to look at her, and saw that Dís had laid eyes on Rivendell for the first time, and could not seem to look away.

“What do they do if it’s attacked?” Dís wondered with a raised eyebrow. “There are no defenses at all!”

“Except for the natural ones,” Thorin allowed. “There are few ways in, and they are easy to block or defend.”

“I don’t think it’s ever been attacked though,” Bella pointed out. “You’d have to find it first, and it’s very well hidden.”

Dís was forced to concede these points as they arrived in Rivendell proper, and Bella felt her stomach doing flip-flops. After decimating the kitchen and bathing in their fountain, the Elves would have every reason to want Dwarves as far from their valley as possible. Still, as they approached, Lindir appeared, and if his expression seemed a little pinched at the sight of them, he was still very polite. Bella ended up doing the talking, explaining the Wargs they had heard on the road, and how they had hoped for just one night of safety. She also mentioned their ponies, who Lindir assured her had been found and would be waiting for them when they left. He would have to speak to his Lord Elrond as to whether or not they could accommodate them for the night, but he seemed optimistic that it would be no trouble. Bella thought of the old saying “house guests, like fish, stink after three days,” and she wondered if maybe her insistence on only staying the one night was greasing the wheel here, so to speak.

In the end, Lindir reappeared to graciously welcome them on Lord Elrond’s behalf, and show them to their rooms. Each of them had their own room, and Bella wondered if this was a show of courtesy, or a desire to keep them all separated and out of trouble. Three dwarves and a hobbit couldn’t cause too much trouble, surely. Still, Bella found herself enjoying the privacy. Rivendell was truly beautiful, but it was not beautiful in a way Thorin had proven himself capable of understanding. Or perhaps he had been able to ignore it, blinded by old ire. But there was nothing to stop Bella from appreciating it. Rivendell felt like a place forgotten by time, untouched by war and sadness. She knew that wasn’t true, but it was a place of peace nonetheless.

It was a little like the Shire, Bella realized. Putting the Fell Winter aside, trouble rarely found its way into the Shire. Little ever came far West enough to disturb its peace. Which of course was why a single dwarf had the power to distract all of Hobbiton, she recalled wryly. The difference was, the Shirefolk cared little for what happened beyond their borders, and she knew Lord Elrond felt differently. Rivendell was a safe haven, a sanctuary to give one time for careful thought in an increasingly dangerous world.

Bella sighed. This place really did make her contemplative. She turned away from the balcony to dig through her things for some clean clothes. It had been more than a week since Bree, and she was not taking her first bath since then and putting dirty clothes on afterward. No Elf attendant came to help her this time, and she was grateful for it. The other Elves they had passed had looked at her strangely. Maybe because of her present company, maybe because of how she behaved last time. It didn’t matter. The bath was hot and fragrant, and Bella was able to relax for the first time in days.


	9. Ponies out of Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And things were going so well, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot I could say about this chapter, but it won't help anything so I'll keep it brief. First, there is a lot of khuzdul in this chapter, but it either describes actions or body parts, so you should be able to figure it out based on context (and if you don't want to read my flailing khuzdul sex scene, skip to the ---). Second, I'm sorry I had to do this, but it's necessary for the happy ending. Third, I struggle with writing elves. Thanks again to Niffstral for not being too weirded out when I handed over this chapter.

Food had appeared in Bella’s room at some point during her bath, which she ate gratefully and without much thought to what she was eating, and then she returned to the balcony to see if she could locate any of the others. Her heart jolted in her chest when she saw Thorin on the balcony beside hers, braiding his wet hair, having clearly just emerged from the bath as well. Startled as she was, she bumped into a chair, and Thorin turned at the noise, smiling when he saw her. There was an intensity in his eyes that reminded her that technically, they had a roof over their heads, and they had privacy. No one would interfere. Bella nodded in response to the unasked question, and Thorin vanished from the balcony.

The knock on her door came almost immediately, and Bella flung the door open with perhaps a little more force than was necessary. It slammed against the wall and Bella winced at the sound. Was this door doomed to go the way of the chairs the dwarves had burned? The corners of Thorin’s eyes were crinkled in amusement when he entered, but he simply closed the door softly behind him.

“I thought we might continue your Khuzdul lessons,” he said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“In private?” Bella raised an eyebrow, wondering where he was going with this. She tried not to be disappointed that his aims were evidently academic in nature. 

“Mukhuh nami zu?” Thorin asked. Bella didn’t understand. She looked at him with a questioning gaze.Thorin took her face in his hands, and repeated the question. Bella wasn’t sure she understood, but she nodded, guessing his intent. Thorin kissed her roughly, and she melted into him instantly.

“Namim,” he said breathlessly when he pulled away. He kissed her several more times, this time more gently, and Bella felt her knees weakening. “Numûm,” he murmured, moving to her neck.

“That’s a strange pluralization,” Bella gasped, and was rewarded with a throaty chuckle. Guessed right apparently.

He ran his tongue along a particularly sensitive spot, and Bella shuddered. “Allâb,” he said against her throat.

“I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be singular or plural,” Bella breathed, wondering how she still had brain power to decipher Khuzdul conjugations.

Thorin licked her ear a few times for good measure. “Plural,” he replied finally, a hungry gleam in his eyes. He nipped the tip of her ear. “Lukham.” Oh, if he was going to do this all night, she wasn’t going to last. Teasing Dwarf. She was beginning to fabricate plans of revenge, when one of Thorin’s fingers brushing across a nipple as he rumbled “Bukhubinh,” into her ear.

“That seems unnecessarily long,” Bella observed breathily, running her hands across his chest in turn. “What about for males?”

“Bukhubûn,” was the reply, his teeth and beard scraping the delicate flesh of her neck. Bella felt his hands moving down again, grabbing her buttocks firmly and causing another gasp. The action had brought their bodies closer together, causing Bella to rub against his shaft. “Hubminh,” he groaned, leaning in for another kiss. Bella allowed it eagerly, her breath coming in short gasps now from his touch. Something about their mouths meeting made it easier for her to breathe. She felt too warm. She needed his hands and his mouth to be everywhere at once.

“Do you remember what I showed you?” She asked finally, trying to speak without breaking the kiss. 

Thorin chuckled. “Are you suggesting we defile this elvish sanctuary in yet another way?” Bella smirked, and answered by running her tongue across his lips.

Thorin’s eyes were clouded with lust as they stumbled over to the bed. Bella’s shirt had come unbuttoned at some point, and Thorin’s was just gone. Maybe he hadn’t come over with it? She couldn’t remember. So much for clean clothes, Bella thought, before Thorin’s hand slipped into her trousers and thinking became impossible.

His tongue teased her nipple while his fingers toyed with the mound of curls that sat above her sex, and Thorin’s efforts were rewarded with breathy gasps and an injunction to get on with it already. He scraped his teeth against the captive nipple, but drove his fingers lower, his approval a deep rumble in his chest when he felt how eager she was for him to touch her.

“You are surprisingly wanton, mizimel,” he murmured hotly into her ear, the intense sensations evoked by his large, rough fingers making Bella wish she had something to bite down on to avoid waking all of Rivendell with her increasingly fervent moans.

“I trust that’s not a problem,” she replied breathily, starting to shake as he brought her close to release. Words were no longer possible for a while after that, as she rode the wave of her release, leaning into Thorin’s fingers eagerly. They kissed languidly, and Bella reached down to perform the same service for Thorin. His shaft leapt eagerly at her touch, and she bit back a laugh. She had forgotten how mobile the organ could be. She tightened her grip, pumping up and down with slightly clumsy motions, though Thorin responded with deep-throated groans that set her blood on fire.

“You undo me, ghivashel.” His voice was a husky murmur, and Bella grinned into the kiss, delighting in reducing her dwarf to a quivering mess as he had done to her.

\----

Lying on Thorin’s naked chest was very pleasant, Bella decided. So pleasant that she was considering ignoring the increasingly urgent knocking on her door. The Elves were their hosts, so it was rude to ignore them, but getting up and putting clothes on was hard. In the end, it was only the long-suffering voice of Lord Elrond on the other side that prompted her to locate her patchwork dressing gown, cover Thorin’s sleeping bulk with the sheets, and make her way to the door. It felt strange and itchy, wearing it with nothing underneath, but she honestly wasn’t sure where all of the pieces of her clothes had gotten to. When she met Elrond’s knowing look, she almost wished she’d gone to the trouble of finding them. Her undergarments, at least.

“How can I help you, my Lord Elrond?” Bella said as politely as possible. She dispensed with any excuses. Being nearly twice as tall as her, Lord Elrond could undoubtedly see past her, and guess exactly what he had walked into.

“I hope you can forgive the lateness of the hour,” he began, with a glance at the darkened bedchamber. “You told Lindir that you encountered Wargs on the road, Miss Baggins.” The look he fixed her with was inscrutable. “I wished to speak to you about it before you leave in the morning. We have seen none near Imladris since the battle outside Erebor.”

“We didn’t actually see any,” Bella allowed. “We heard them howling near Weathertop.”

Elrond scrutinized her expression in a way that made Bella feel twitchy. “You are certain they were not wolves.”

Bella smiled wryly at this. “Believe me, my Lord, I have learned the difference.”

Elrond nodded slowly. “Thank you for the information. If these Wargs belong to Orcs who escaped the battle, made it through Mirkwood, and back through the Misty Mountains, they are not to be underestimated. We will send an escort with your party until you reach the mountains.”

Bella’s eyes widened, and as grateful as she was, she knew it was necessary to refuse. “Oh no, no, no, that won’t be necessary. They say wounded animals are the most dangerous, and while a small party can probably evade them, Rivendell will need her defenders.” If he weren’t always so calm, Bella would have thought Elrond seemed relieved by her refusal.

“The hospitality of Imladris is always open to you,” he reminded her with a small smile, and Bella, always mannerly, thanked him graciously and bowed. She closed the door quietly, but apparently the conversation had awoken Thorin.

“Did he have to come personally for that?” He groused, tugging Bella back into bed when she approached.

“Well, I gather they were knocking for some time, so perhaps they thought I would be more willing to open the door for their Lord,” Bella explained. “Or perhaps the Elves delight in surprising their guests in their nightclothes. We may never know.”

“I suppose, given what happened last time, they may assume we simply have no shame,” Thorin allowed, smoothing down Bella’s unruly curls.

“You weren’t involved in that, were you?” Bella asked with a raised eyebrow. Thorin coughed uncomfortably, and pretended to be asleep, but guilt had been gnawing at Bella, and she could be silent no more. The peace and tranquility of Rivendell, the intimacy she had shared with Thorin, and the knowledge that the Misty Mountains were so very close had driven her over the edge with regards to the Ring. She had agreed to marry him. It could not be a secret any longer. “Thorin, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said seriously, her heart pounding in her chest.

Thorin was suddenly alert, his attempt to feign sleep dispelled by her oddly ominous tone. “What is the matter?” He asked gently, though his gentleness was no comfort here.

“There is something that I have not told you. That I kept secret, even in my book, and that you deserve to know about,” Bella told him, sitting up so that his warmth wouldn’t convince her to forestall the disclosure. She fished around on the floor for her shirt, retrieving the Ring from the breast pocket. As her fingers brushed against it, a wave of uneasiness swept over her, but she was determined to do right. She held her hand out to Thorin and slowly unclenched her fingers.

Thorin glanced at the Ring, and then met her eyes uncertainly. “A ring? I don’t understand.”

“I found it in the Goblin Tunnels,” she said, her voice shaking. “Something about it caught my eye, and when I put it on, suddenly no one could see me. Without it, I never could have rescued everyone from Mirkwood, found the Arkenstone, or even survived the battle that followed.”

Thorin’s expression hardened, as Bella thought it might. “A magic ring,” he summarized roughly, and Bella nodded. “My father and grandfather carried one of the dwarven Rings of Power, and Gandalf tells me that it probably bears some responsibility for their going mad. Tell me, does your Ring affect you so?”

Bella’s blood chilled in her veins. This was why she had feared telling him. “I do not know anything about it, other than the fact that it turns me invisible, but I know that whenever I lose it, I feel completely frantic until it is found again,” she admitted quietly, watching Thorin’s expression become harder and harder. “Even showing it to you makes me extremely anxious.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” He did not shout, but the barely restrained fury in his eyes made her flinch anyway.

“It’s gold and it’s obviously magic, those don’t seem to combine well where you’re concerned,” Bella spat, regretting the words the instant they were out of her mouth.

The pain in Thorin’s eyes cut like a knife in Bella’s heart. “I am not the one who has kept this artifact a secret for over a year,” he shot back, rising stiffly from the bed. “When I look upon it, I feel nothing. I am not the one who is in thrall to this thing.”

“At least my ring is useful, unlike the Arkenstone,” was Bella’s heated reply, hating every word that left her mouth. These were not her words. These were not her thoughts. Where did they come from?

Bella’s shot had hit its mark, as Thorin looked positively thunderous. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if he wanted to say something. Instead of continuing the argument though, he gathered his clothes and stormed out of the room, still completely naked.

Well, that went well.

They were on the road again shortly after dawn, leaving before many of the Elves had even stirred. Bella tried not to feel like a thief in the night, after all they hadn’t stolen anything… They just never could leave Rivendell when anyone was looking. Their ponies were unharmed and waiting for them, and Bella offered silent thanks to the Elves for keeping the ponies from becoming Warg-bait. 

They put a few miles between them and Rivendell before anyone ventured any conversation. Thorin was still extremely angry, utterly refusing to make eye contact, and only giving monosyllabic responses when questioned. Bella slumped in the saddle a little. At least he hadn’t told her to turn back, though really she wasn’t sure he had a right to be quite so angry. She had told him, rather than wait for it to be discovered, and if he couldn’t see that, well. Bella huffed irritably.

“I think we are safely out of Elven hearing range,” Dís decided, startling Bella. She wondered if that was really the reason for the extended silence. “Time to resume your Khuzdul lessons.” Bella was reasonably certain the shade of red she turned was not flattering. Oddly enough, Thorin’s ears reddened as well, which Dís did not fail to notice. Great. He was probably embarrassed to have been so intimate with a liar.

“Oh my,” Dís exclaimed, a hand flying to her mouth dramatically. “I’m sure I said nothing that could cause such a reaction.” Her eyes glittered with amusement, and Bella began to understand why Thorin had been apprehensive about seeing his sister. There really could be no secrets around her.

Lessons continued without further interruption, though occasionally similar sounds would cause her to remember one of the words Thorin had “taught” her, and she would lose focus for a second. Dís would chuckle, Bella would blush, and they would pick up where they left off. There were quite a few sounds in Khuzdul that didn’t exist in Westron, and the choking sounds Bella made as she tried to pronounce them were a source of amusement for all, even Dwalin giving a good-natured chuckle at her well-intentioned failures. It was pleasant and friendly (and she almost forgot she and Thorin were not getting along), and the Misty Mountains don’t seem so threatening, even from what Bella remembered of her only trips over them.

When they camped in the foothills, Thorin met Bella’s eyes to let her know that the goblins were on his mind too. It cannot be safe to linger so close to their territory, but they have no choice. Bella began reading aloud from her book that night, the dangers they once faced reassuring her that she can get out of anything if she needs to. Especially with the Ring safe in her pocket, the Ring that she carefully avoided any mention of in her book. Thorin may be willing to look at her now, but his stiff posture when they settled in for the night said everything. He is still angry about the Ring. He is uncomfortable touching someone who has a penchant for lying. But it was not enough to make him wish her unprotected on the goblin’s doorstep, and he probably didn’t want Dís to think there was anything wrong.

They slept fitfully and rose early, no one looking particularly well-rested, but the mountains needed crossing, and the sooner the better. The good cheer and easy conversation of yesterday is gone again, replaced by watchful silence. Goblins do not travel in broad daylight, Bella reminded herself, but the mountains themselves are dangerous enough without goblins. Her old book on Elven myths (that she had perhaps borrowed from Rivendell without permission on an earlier visit) had a story about the creation of the world, and one part in particular came to mind. 

The creation of Arda was a constant struggle between Melkor and the other Valar, for the Valar would make, and Melkor would unmake. They would raise mountains, and he would crush them into valleys. They would make valleys, and he would raise them into mountains. The Misty Mountains were a result of that struggle, erected by Melkor to make travel between East and West difficult, and it was therefore not the least bit surprising that the mountains would have a tendency to rise up into giants, or that they contained legions of goblins. The Mountains themselves were evil.

Bella sighed. These were not helpful thoughts. Thankfully, a distraction appeared, in the form of a raven landing on Thorin’s pony. The sudden sound of flapping wings shattered the silent tension, and Bella was grateful to have something else to think about, namely news from Erebor.

“What news?” Dís demanded eagerly, not even giving Thorin the opportunity to volunteer the information.

He rolled his eyes (though his back was to the rest of the group). “Balin is preparing for the coronation. He says they will be ready to crown me the instant we arrive, though I doubt it.”

Dís nodded in approval. “Best to get it over with, with no further loss of time. Between Dain as your regent while you were injured, and Fili now, the rulership of Erebor has changed hands too many times in recent days,” she elaborated for Bella’s benefit. Thorin privately agreed.

“He also wishes to know if they should be making preparations for a wedding as well,” Thorin continued nonchalantly, and though he didn’t turn around, Bella felt like all eyes were on her. She was supposed to decide here and now? There was still no resolution to their fight. He had not forgiven her, but she was expected to choose a wedding date?

Bella cleared her throat. “Tell him that… they should prepare for a wedding as well,” she decided after a pause. She supposed, under the circumstances, he had a right to be angry. “Though we will have to return to the Shire at some point for a Hobbit-style wedding. It can wait until Erebor is more stable,” she assured Thorin quickly, in case he decided to turn right back around. Not that that was likely in his current mood. Her face felt warm. She still wasn’t used to having what should be private conversations in front of others. As Queen, she knew she would have to get over it. There would always be people watching.

Dís clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, a proper royal wedding. The perfect show of strength and stability.” There was nothing sarcastic about her tone. Bella was surprised to see that she was perfectly serious. It seemed like a waste of money, and shouldn’t Dís be jealous?

“You were married in exile, weren’t you?” Bella asked hesitantly, hoping it wasn’t a sore subject.

Dís simply smiled. “Oh yes. It was very simple. Quite shameful for a Princess of Erebor, but have no apprehensions on my behalf. I married young. Thorin is marrying quite old by our standards, and we need a big party to remind him how long this day was in coming.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Bella almost believed it. Maybe she just didn’t understand Dwarf logic.

Bella glanced back at Dwalin to see if he could clarify the issue, and he nodded. “Aye, to embarrass him.”

“A wedding is not for the couple’s benefit, you know,” Dís explained. “It is for the family to show their support, and let go of the couple as they start their own family. As the youngest, I spent my whole life being embarrassed by my siblings. Now, it will be Thorin’s turn.” The glint in her eye almost made Bella reign in her pony.

“It’s traditional to tell as many embarrassing stories of the couple as you can,” Dwalin said with an equally wicked grin, and Bella blanched.

“So you have many such stories about Thorin, then?” She asked nervously, watching Thorin get stiffer in the saddle.

“Oh yes,” Dís said eagerly. “Some of the better ones are from when my sons were young, and Thorin was learning to be an Uncle. My boys were quite the little hellions.”

“ “Were”?” Bella repeated. “Did you forget that they sent me to steal from trolls?”

“That’s fairly tame compared to the adventures of barely talking Fili, barely walking Kili, and clueless Uncle Thorin,” Dís insisted. “This one time, I came back from shopping to find that they- Oh but I should save them for the wedding.”

This teaser was hardly enough for Bella, especially since everyone else already knew the story. It took some polite prodding, but Dís didn’t need much encouragement to talk about her sons in a way that embarrassed her brother. In this instance, Dís had left Thorin to watch her sons while she went shopping for dinner. She had promised to be back in no more than twenty minutes, but ran into an acquaintance and ended up talking to them for a bit longer (“An hour at least,” Thorin insisted, though Dís was certain it had been maybe five extra minutes). When she made it back, somehow Fili was hanging from the ceiling lights, Kili was sitting on the mantle, and Thorin stood under the lights, reaching for Fili with some of their toys in his hair (“I looked away for 5 seconds,” Thorin insisted. Bella almost believed him). They had immediately assumed the aspect of angels, Kili crawling down from the mantle with dexterity he shouldn’t have had, and Fili dropping into his mother’s waiting arms without a thought.

“He learned his lesson after that one,” Dís concluded with some satisfaction, enjoying her brother’s discomfort.

“What lesson was that, exactly?” Thorin muttered from between gritted teeth. Bella didn’t need to see his face to know that it looked like a storm cloud.

“Not to look away, even “for 5 seconds,”” Dís told him smugly.

“Still true today,” Bella muttered under her breath.

“Let us hope Balin learned that lesson too,” Thorin replied gravely, looking in the general direction of Erebor. “Fili will be a good King, and he seems to be managing, but…”

“But Balin could waste half of his day looking for the pair of them if Kili convinces Fili that he deserves a break when there’s still work to be done,” Dís concluded wryly. Her expression suddenly became serious. “Tell me honestly, Thorin. How badly were they injured?”

Thorin and Dwalin both shifted uncomfortably in their saddles. “I do not know the details,” Thorin admitted. “I was in and out of consciousness for some time, and by the time I woke with enough of my senses about me to ask, they were both able to sit up in bed.”

Dís shifted her gaze to Dwalin. “The lads were both unconscious for a few days,” he admitted gruffly. “Most of their wounds were superficial. But they both got bad head wounds.”

Dís nodded in understanding. “Concussed, then,” she said, and Dwalin nodded.

“They were confused when they woke up, but recovered quickly. They’re fine.” There was a softness to Dwalin’s eyes when he said this that Bella had never seen before. Perhaps Balin hadn’t exaggerated too much, if no one knew whether Thorin, Fili and Kili would wake up. Head wounds were a tricky business, as Bella well knew from the times young hobbits fell on their heads and either fully recovered or were never exactly the same. If Fili seemed to be managing, the damage could not have been permanent. She allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief, unintentionally mirroring Dís.

When Dís and Dwalin continued conversing, Bella took the opportunity to ride closer to Thorin. “Why did you ask about the wedding?” She asked quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me to turn back?”

Thorin’s sigh was irritable. “I am still very angry, for reasons which I would think are obvious, but I am not going to end another engagement over a bauble. Let me have time to think. We will talk about this later.”

“What if I changed my mind? What if I am the one who wants to end the engagement?” Bella knew when she saw the pain flash briefly across Thorin’s face that perhaps she had pushed too far again.

“Then turn around and be on your way, Miss Baggins.”

Bella did not turn around.

It took several long, plodding days, but they crossed the Misty Mountains without incident. There were no storm giants, no goblins, no trolls, no wargs, no snowstorms, and no eagles. Bella should have been comforted by their easy passage, especially compared to her last two trips, but she was a worrier by nature, and she worried if this easy passage boded ill. 

It was nevertheless a relief when they finally came down the High Pass, a reminder that their last journey this way had involved less conventional travel. Maybe there would be no spiders in Mirkwood, though perhaps that was asking a bit too much. It was like hoping they would get through Mirkwood without some kind of diplomatic incident, Bella decided wryly.

They settled in for the night at the base of the mountains, and Bella finally got Thorin to help her cook, though all he did was chop vegetables for stew. It was an improvement, and probably a peace offering. And likely the most she would ever get out of him. According to Dís, this was for the best. While it was important that soldiers be able to feed themselves, no one had ever allowed Thorin to cook for himself ( the Prince can’t cook for himself! they would exclaim, and send him away, never mind the fact that Dís learned to cook somehow) until he was learning to be an Uncle. The end result could only legally be called “food” in certain kingdoms.

“How did you survive on your own in the wild?” Bella asked between bites of stew, wondering how Thorin made it all the way to the shire without being able to prepare an edible meal.

“I can hunt, and putting meat over a fire until it is safe to eat is easy,” Thorin insisted, but Dís rolled her eyes.

“He means everything he ate was either undercooked or burned, and completely unseasoned, but he would have you believe that’s just the “dwarven way,” “ Dís explained. “He was skinny after getting out of the sickbed, or so I’m told, but your cooking seems to have remedied that.”

Bella flushed pink with pleasure, glad to have aided Thorin’s recovery in some way. Thorin, seeing how Dís’ words had pleased her, decided not to argue with his sister, and just enjoy the stew.

Everyone slept well that night, for the first time since Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Glossary
> 
> Mukhuh nami zu? -May I kiss you?  
> Namim - kiss  
> Numûm - kisses  
> Allâb - licks  
> Lukham - bite  
> Bukhubinh - chest (female)  
> Bukhubûn - chest (male)  
> Hubminh - butt (female)
> 
> Be strong everyone. Next chapter comes out Sunday.


	10. Before the Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last leg of the journey is much smoother a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! This chapter covers a fair amount of mileage, but I hope it's satisfying. Thanks again to Niffstral for quickly editing this chapter before going on vacation. I can't believe there's only two chapters left!

Bella wondered if the polite cheerfulness of the Mirkwood Elves was calculated to irritate Thorin. It was a stark contrast to the dark, heaviness of the wood itself, which was no less oppressive than before. There fewer spiders this time at least.

They had encountered the Elves at the Western entrance to the forest, which was only welcome because they did not want to get lost again. Bella had almost been worried when she saw them, because they should not have been expected, and she really did not want to enjoy the hospitality of Thranduil’s dungeons. The Elves had been nothing but helpful and even a little friendly. It was unnerving. Bella did not know what state the peace talks had been left in, but given Thorin’s prickliness and the fact that he’d been bedridden for all of the talks, she didn’t think they could have gotten far.

Well, maybe they had been more successful without him.

Thranduil must want something, Bella decided wryly. Maybe all he wanted was to irritate Thorin (who plodded through Mirkwood with an increasingly dark expression, though that was hardly different from last time), but that still counted. The only one who seemed to suspect nothing was Dís, and Bella wondered if she simply had less experience with the Mirkwood Elves or was just better at hiding how she felt. It was probably the latter. Dís could see the political advantages to not picking a fight now that they were in a better position, while Thorin was still just a tiny bit bitter.

After failing to help them, imprisoning them, forcing them to flee in barrels, and bringing an army to Thorin’s gates after Lake Town burned, maybe there was good reason to be bitter about Thranduil’s behavior.

It turned out that the very helpful Elves were not there to annoy Thorin. They were not there for Thorin at all. No, when they arrived in Thranduil’s halls, it was Bella that the Elvenking wished to speak with, and no one else. Bella broke out in a cold sweat when they were told. It was an insult to Thorin, to ignore him in favor of a hobbit of no account. Even if Thorin wasn’t properly crowned yet.

She prepared for the unexpected audience by reminded herself that the Elves do things in their own way. After all, they were far older, and saw things differently. Surely Thorin’s promise that he would be waiting for her signal to break down the door would not be necessary. She just hoped the waiting room that the dwarves had been deposited in was more comfortable than the cells Thorin and Dwalin had enjoyed on their last visit.

A waiting room was hardly more comfortable than a cell when there were guards and walls separating Thorin from Bella. He was still displeased that she had lied to him, again, but it was not as though he had not done worse under the influence of the Arkenstone. Really, the matter of the magic ring seemed utterly trivial when compared to their current predicament. He would cheerfully burn this cursed forest to the ground if Thranduil pulled anything… untoward.

The guards had not taken their weapons this time. More fools them. Thorin had half a mind to just knock out the guards and go. If worst came to worst, they knew another way out.

It truly said something that he was willing to consider leaving by barrel again, rather than continue to wait on Thranduil’s pleasure. He met Dwalin’s eyes, searching for support in what would probably be a foolish venture. Dwalin nodded slightly. Thorin looked to Dís, who simply raised her eyebrows at him. He cursed silently. He should not have expected her help. She had not been imprisoned here.

Bella’s audience with Thranduil was a confusing one. He began with pleasantries, asking why she was back in this part of the world, which seemed like an odd way to begin, considering that he had guards waiting for them on the road and undoubtedly knew their purpose. But eventually he made his intentions clear.

“During that business with the Arkenstone,” he began, watching her carefully, “I found you far more reasonable to treat with than your king.” All at once, Bella knew where this was going.

“Relations with the Woodland Realm are very important to us, especially at this crucial time,” Bella replied, trying for a neutral tone and not certain she succeeded. “I would be very happy to treat with Your Majesty on my king’s behalf, whenever negotiations are needed.” He probably thought she would be easier to deal with than Thorin. Which was true, in it’s way, but she wasn’t going to give away the mountain just because she didn’t have a lifelong grudge against elves.

Later, when Bella rejoined the group, Thorin was wild-eyed and ready to start smashing heads. He was not easy until they were being escorted the rest of the way out of Mirkwood, and Bella had related the content of the audience word for word.

“He was testing you,” Thorin practically growled. “Trying to spark a diplomatic incident, no doubt.”

“You were the one pacing and snarling, brandishing weapons at the guards,” Dís reminded him coolly.

“I was provoked!” Thorin insisted in exasperation.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Bella said soothingly. “We made it out of his stronghold, without barrels this time, and without deepening the divide between Mirkwood and Erebor. Job well done, I’d say.”

Thorin muttered something vulgar in Khuzdul. “That will be the last I see of Elves for a while, anyway.”

Bella shifted nervously. “Actually, I thought, as a gesture of goodwill, it would be good to invite them to the coronation? Thranduil didn’t actually accept, but he will probably send a delegation.”

Thorin fumed silently until they were out of the woods. Thranduil had gotten the better of him, it would seem. Bella was honestly surprised there had been no shouting. Either he was getting his temper under control, or he didn’t want to give their Elven escort too much to talk about.

The Elves left them at the border of the forest, still polite, if less obnoxiously cheerful than earlier. The spirits of the entire group seemed to improve once they were free of the forest’s oppressive atmosphere, and Thorin’s anger seemed to fade a little. A glance at the horizon gave Bella a decent guess as to why: they could see Erebor from here. They could also see construction on Lake Town, which was far from fully recovered, but at least was not a sunken ruin anymore. 

Bella’s spirits sank a little. She had hoped they would be able to spend the night in Lake Town, but it might not be able to support them in its current condition. Pushing on for Dale would probably have similar results, given how long it had been uninhabited. That left joining Lake Town’s coastal tent town as their only viable option for the evening. It was a little discouraging, with Erebor so close, and if she was being completely honest, she had a very strong negative association with tents in this part of the world.

She sighed. She had hoped for a private moment with Thorin. They still had not had an opportunity to talk about the Ring, and it was an issue that needed resolving soon, certainly before they made it to Erebor. They would never get a moment alone until the wedding, and their wedding night was not the time for attempting to resolve arguments.

“Thorin, I need to talk to you about something,” she said finally. “Alone, if possible.”

Thorin looked to Dís, who nodded. “Find a tent, Dwalin and I will sit outside.”

When it was clear that the King Under the Mountain had joined them, the Lake Men found it very easy to accommodate them with a tent, even if it was a very small one. Bella and Thorin sat across from each other, awkwardly avoiding eye contact, until Bella finally decided to break the tension.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she said softly. “But that was why I was telling you. Because I didn’t want to keep lying, and there never seemed to be a good time to tell you.”

“I know,” Thorin admitted, all of the anger seemingly drained out of him. “We know next to nothing about your ring, but magic rings are not a thing to be used lightly. I need to know what you intended to do with it. Simply holding onto it is not acceptable. Even if it doesn’t harm you, I might try to take it from you, which is what you were afraid of.” He sounded so tired, as if the memories of his previous experiences with magic rings were too heavy for him.

“I was going to tell Gandalf about it, and ask him what to do,” Bella admitted. “I tried to tell him before, but something stopped me.”

“Tell him,” Thorin agreed. “And until then, keep it hidden, under lock and key. Do not touch it, and absolutely do not use it.”

Irrational anger spiked insider her at this command, but she quelled it forcefully. Thorin was right; why was she angry with him? “I’ll do that,” she said instead, and Thorin took her hand gently.

“I am sorry for storming out. You were trying to do right and be honest with me, and I reacted poorly.” The genuine regret in his eyes softened her heart.

“You had a right to be angry. The last time I lied…” She hesitated, unwilling to revisit that particular memory.

“We both have our flaws and weaknesses,” Thorin replied, shaking his head. “I did not think. I could only see a magic ring, and a lie. I cannot say it won’t happen again, but...” 

“But we will keep trying,” Bella supplied with a smile. They emerged from the tent hand in hand.

They made stew outside their tent, Thorin taking the vegetables for chopping without being asked, while Bella stirred and seasoned. Beds would have been nice, but one last night under the stars, cooking Hobbit food and sleeping in bedrolls, wasn’t so bad. She hoped that it would be a long time before it happened again, so she enjoyed it while it lasted.

When it was time for her to read aloud, some of the children of the tent city noticed her taking out a book and snuck close to listen. Bella glanced up halfway through a chapter to find dozens of eager faces crowded behind the dwarves, hiding behind tents and boxes, and just generally not doing a very good job of being inconspicuous. She raised her voice slightly, to ensure that they could all hear, reminded of the Hobbit lads and lasses back in the Shire who didn’t know how the story ended. But then again, neither did she. Not yet.

Their tent was cramped for three dwarves and a hobbit, and in the end Dwalin slept outside, Bella trying very hard not to compare him to a guard dog. She slept sandwiched between the two siblings, which was definitely too warm, but it was oddly comfortable. Thorin and Dís had spent much of the journey sniping at each other, something that made Bella very nervous, but in the end, they were brother and sister and they loved each other. If she’d ever had a sibling, maybe she would have understood the way they treated each other.

There was entirely too much dwarf and long hair for Bella to sleep though. After a few hours, she wrestled free of the pair of them, escaping into the cold night air. She did not trip over Dwalin, because there was no Dwalin to trip over. He had moved from lying in front of the tent to leaning against it, stared up at the stars with an unreadable expression. Bella looked up too, and almost tripped.

She had seen the sky crowded with stars before, more than a few times since their initial journey to retake Erebor. Even in Hobbiton, if the night was clear, the view was scarcely less awe-inspiring. But there was something about the stars that night. Maybe it was because they were once again out of the oppressive dark of Mirkwood. Or maybe the crisp air of early winter lent the stars additional brightness (did that even make sense?). All she knew was that on that particular night, she was sure she had never seen such a beautiful sight before in her life. The mountain itself seemed crowned in stars.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dwalin asked, finally noticing the slightly dazed Bella.

“It’s too warm stuck between two clingy dwarves,” she said with a shrug, sitting down beside him.

“I’m surprised they shared,” he replied with a bark-like laugh. Bella smiled, but said nothing. Dwalin turned back to the sky, looking contemplative. “Do you know the tale of Durin the Deathless?” he said suddenly, surprising Bella out of a reverie.

“I know that he’s a shared ancestor of every member of the company except for Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur,” Bella recalled. “And the first King of Mori- Khazad-dûm,” Bella said, correcting herself.

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed with a nod. “A night like tonight reminds me of one of the stories about him.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Bella said eagerly, guessing that Dwalin was looking for an excuse to tell it.

“Well it’s nothing long or fancy, so get that out of your head now,” he said gruffly, though he looked pleased. “Durin was the oldest of the original seven dwarf lords, and the only one born without a wife. The others soon built their own clans by having children, but Durin could not. He wandered the world for a long time, and one day he came to the Mirrormere, outside Khazad-dûm. It was a clear night, and when he looked into it, he saw himself crowned in stars, and that was when he knew.”

“Knew what?” Bella asked curiously.

“Knew that he was destined for greatness,” Dwalin answered with a proud gleam in his eyes. “And Durin soon had a clan and wife of his own, made of dwarves who left other clans, and together they founded the greatest dwarf kingdom the world has ever known.”

“Did seeing the mountain crowned in stars remind you of that?” Bella asked with a slight smile.

“Aye,” Dwalin admitted. “I always thought… Thorin…”

Bella nodded. “Thorin has been King in fact if not in name for much of his life. The ceremony changes nothing. And hasn’t he always been a good King? Didn’t he do what he promised he would do?”

“Aye, that he did.”

Bella did not remember going back inside the tent and falling asleep, but she woke up being cuddled by the royal siblings, so she supposed she must have. She did not consider the possibility that they would have noticed their sudden lack of Hobbit and awakened, hearing her conversation with Dwalin, and dragging her back inside afterward. 

They all rose early, anticipating a wearying climb up the mountain, even if they could use the main gates this time. Bella found she was nervous to return. Thorin had told her that everything would be fine, and that Dwalin’s meager explanation would satisfy everyone, but she was still a little ashamed of her behavior. It was a full year since she had been here last; would time have healed this wound?

When they reached Dale, Bella forgot to be nervous. In a year’s time, it had undergone such a transformation, she could hardly believe it had been abandoned for over a century. Most of the houses were made of stone, so when Smaug attacked, his flames had caused serious loss of life, but the city had not been reduced to smoking rubble. It could not yet be called thriving, but it was definitely a city again, full of vibrancy and life, and so utterly different from the ruins she had seen before.

And her share of the gold had much to do with it, a little voice in the back of her mind reminded her.

Well, that ought to buy her some goodwill as Queen of Erebor.

The stunned expression on Thorin’s face told her that things had been different when Thorin left. “They have accomplished much since you left?” Bella asked, smiling.

“Yes. If this is how Dale looks, I am no longer surprised that Lake Town’s construction is less far along. It was smart of them to prioritize the city with foundations of stone over the one that floated on water.” This sounded like some kind of dwarven proverb to Bella’s ears, so matter-of-factly did he say it.

“I wonder how Erebor will look then,” Bella mused. “Until we came, Smaug had mostly stuck to the treasury, so the damage shouldn’t have been that extensive.”

“Just a lot of skeletons to find and bury,” Dwalin confirmed grimly.

Bella remembered the guard room, and shuddered. Who knew how many bodies lay hidden in the depths of Erebor? Those that had not been killed by fire had certainly died of starvation, hiding in the dark.

The sight of Erebor’s gates, massive and vaguely threatening in the distance, brought Bella’s nervousness back. The gates themselves had unpleasant memories associated with them, for she had been banished from them. The full patrol on the wall didn’t help, and she tried reminding herself that she was not considered an enemy of Erebor anymore. She probably hadn’t even been considered one when Thorin cast her out. Just a Hobbit, who owed no allegiance to a dwarf king.

Bella straightened in the saddle. Well, she thought. That certainly had changed.

Thorin rode in front, so the guards on the battlements spotted him first. A cry went up, horns were sounded, and soon the great stone gates of Erebor were opening, the scraping of stone competing with the fanfare for Thorin. And for Dís too, most likely.

Bella looked over at Dís, noticing that the Princess had been oddly silent. Dís seemed frozen in the saddle, her expression resembling the stone statues guarding the gates.

“She was very young when we were exiled,” Thorin told Bella softly. “She couldn’t remember it.” It will never be home to her, Bella realized. But she wants it to be, very badly.

And then the guards were shouting “Hail, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, long may he reign,” and Dís’s expression smoothed out, her training as a Princess taking over. “Hail, Dís, daughter of Thrain, mother of the heirs to the throne!” There was something very familiar about the voice announcing them…

And then they had passed through the gates, and she saw him.

“Hail Belladonna Baggins, intended partner of his Majesty, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,” Balin announced cheerfully.

“You don’t know that, Balin,” Bella scolded jokingly. “I could have changed my mind on the road.”

“Aye, true enough,” Balin agreed easily. “Thorin would still intend to marry you though, so I was technically correct. Welcome home, lass.”

Bella smiled. “Thank you, Balin.” She glanced to her left; the royal siblings were being greeted and clucked over by dwarves she did not know, but she assumed they were important. She thought she recognized Dain, and decided it was time to look away. Dwalin remained with her, like a watchful shadow.

Balin’s expression grew rueful. “Er, about that business with Thorin,” he began awkwardly. 

“It’s okay, Balin,” Bella interrupted. “You were just trying to help, and even the wisest among us are wrong sometimes.” As good as an apology felt, she really didn’t want to dwell on that anymore. Balin accepted this in good grace.

Dwalin had evidently been waiting for them to get that out of the way, for he now moved to greet his brother (with the traditional headbutt). He did not move to rejoin the royal siblings.

“You don’t have to feel obliged to keep me company,” Bella told him. “I know how you feel about protecting Thorin.”

Dwalin shrugged. “There’s plenty of guards over there, and none over here.” Bella was strangely flattered by the gesture.

“They’ll be at it for a while,” Balin told Bella, nodding toward the royal siblings. “The lads have been waiting, so why don’t we go see them?”

“Really?” Bella asked, more pleased than she cared to admit. She was eager to see the truth of their condition with her own eyes. “Before their mother sees them?”

“No point in standing on ceremony now, lass,” Balin replied with a laugh, leading her deeper into Erebor and leaving Thorin and Dis behind. “You’ll be their aunt soon.”

Somehow, that thought hadn’t occurred to her sooner.

As they stepped out onto the platform that led to the throne, Bella expected to feel sick, looking down at the very sudden drop. But she saw Fíli seated on the throne, and Kíli standing beside him, and realized that until that moment, she hadn’t really believed they had survived. It was that belief that sent her running ahead of Balin, sprinting headlong across a platform that she never would have dared to cross ordinarily.

Fíli rose from the throne, and he and Kíli ran to meet her, enveloping Bella in a warm hug. “We thought you were dead,” Fíli admitted softly.

“I thought you were dead!” Bella replied with a choked laugh. There were tears in her eyes, though she didn’t remember starting to cry.

“It takes more than a few bumps on the head to kill us!” Kíli declared, in his usual reckless way.

“And more than a scratch across the ribs to kill your uncle, I gather,” Bella said, wiping away tears. “Remind me to never underestimate the sturdiness of dwarves.”

“And we won’t underestimate the resilience of Hobbits,” they chorused, matching smiles on their faces.

They were still smiling and laughing when Thorin and Dís entered, but Bella withdrew to give them privacy. Fíli went to Thorin, and Kíli went to his mother, each having separate duties to discharge. Thorin surprised Fíli by greeting him first with a headbutt, an uncle’s gesture rather than a king’s.

“The Mountain still stands,” he observed with a smile. “Our people appear to be happy and fed. Dain had not one complaint to make, except perhaps that I left you in charge instead of him. You’ve done well.” Bella couldn’t see Fíli’s face, but she knew how much those words meant to him.

Meanwhile, Kíli was returning the runestone to his mother. “I kept my promise,” he said proudly, and was rewarded with a smack to the head. Khuzdul scolding followed, and Bella took the opportunity to slip out of the throne room unnoticed.

Or so she thought, until she realized Dwalin was still behind her. Evidently he was her guard now. Balin had followed as well, and Bella quickly found herself being conveyed to “her rooms,” as well as being briefed on the plan for the day after tomorrow, which was when the wedding and coronation would be. It was all very overwhelming, trying to keep track of where she was going and listen to Balin’s patient explanations, and all without Thorin.

The first thing that surprised Bella about her rooms was the natural light (though it was fading fast). There were windows, if thin slits cut in the side of the mountain really counted as windows. She almost teared up at the sight. There couldn’t be many rooms in the mountain so outfitted, and she hugged Balin fiercely for his thoughtfulness.

Then she promptly kicked the pair of them out so that she could change. She traded her stained and worn trousers and waistcoat for a dress, tried and failed to brush the unruly knots out of her hair, and stored the Ring safely back in her mother’s memory chest. That done, she explored her rooms. 

She had three rooms: a parlor, a bedroom and a bathroom. The walls of each room (even the bathroom!) were covered in intricate carvings that she suspected were at least hundreds of years old. The parts of the walls that weren’t covered in carvings had beautifully woven tapestries, depicting different events in the history of the line of Durin. One tapestry, which she decided would not be staying in her room, depicted what she assumed was Durin’s Bane, driving the dwarves out of Moria. Bella did NOT want to wake up in the middle of the night and see it. When she tried to move the tapestry though, she found a locked door behind it. Nori had taught her to pick locks, and her picks had made the journey with her, but she heard voices on the other side.

Thorin’s voice. So, they’d given her the Queen’s suite, and locked the connecting door to the King’s suite. Because Thorin Oakenshield had a history of being confounded by locked doors.

Bella laughed softly, stepping away from the door. It was time to see if Thorin had told the truth about the Arkenstone, among other things. He’d had his chance to scold her over the Ring; now she would see if he needed a scolding as well.


	11. Insider Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is entirely too much to do, and somehow Bella must find time to defeat a lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The penultimate chapter. Yes, the fic will conclude this week. Chapter 12 is written, and edited, and just needs to be beta'd. But is this the end? Well... that's up to you. As I mentioned in a comment, I am considering writing a sequel, because there's more that I'd like to do in this universe, but I didn't just want to double the length of this fic, because I need some time and breathing room before I start working on it. My take on the war of the ring would definitely be different, but is anyone interested? Let me know.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Niffstral, for going over this chapter right after getting back from vacation.

Belladonna Baggins, late of Bag End, had not expected to return to Erebor’s battlements after being ungraciously held over them. The drop was still sickening, but the view was lovely, and she was determined to put that little… incident behind her, having completed her investigations. It had been difficult to convince Dwalin to even let her near the battlements, let alone sit on them with her feet dangling over the edge. He was convinced Thorin would not like it, and the King was the only one who could override the Queen, but as he had not explicitly made the order, Bella won that argument, though she had been forced to wait until the morning. She supposed she could see the wisdom in not going up on the wall in the dark, and to be honest the ride from Lake Town had been punishing. She had barely been able to spare a thought for changing clothes before she had collapsed onto the bed. 

Bella had half-expected Dwalin to send a message to Thorin about what she was doing, but was surprised to see that Fíli was the first of the company to find her. Initially he said nothing, suggesting that his appearance was a coincidence and that he had not been looking for her. He leaned against the battlements, staring into the distance much like Bella was, before finally asking, “How did you forgive Uncle?”

Bella was so startled by the question that she almost fell. She supposed he was thinking of Thorin leaving them behind in Lake Town, though that felt like a lifetime ago. Thorin hadn’t even been sick then. “I didn’t,” she admitted wryly. “Not in the tent, not when he showed up at Bag End. When I thought he was dead, I was guilty about it, because there is nothing more a dead man can do to earn forgiveness, but that doesn’t mean that I forgave him when I found out he was alive. Until we came here, I still hadn’t forgiven him. Still a liar, I’m afraid.”

Fíli turned to look at her in shock. “Then why-”

“Why did I come? Why did I agree to marry him again?” Bella smiled a little. “Because I love him. He hurt me very badly though, and I needed to see that he wouldn’t let that happen again. He told me that he ordered the Arkenstone cast back into the depths, and every dwarf I asked agreed that this had happened. The place above the throne where the Arkenstone sits had been removed, and I understand that the treasury has been moved and Thorin doesn’t have the key.”

Fíli nodded. “There’s also a lot less in it than before. From his sickbed, he ordered it to be divided among the company, and kept in vaults that he doesn’t know the location of.”

“He did everything and more that he promised me, showing that his mind is as clear as he said it was,” Bella continued, her smile growing. “To the point where some of his precautions seem a little excessive, but that’s Thorin for you. Now, I can forgive him.”

“You came all this way, not knowing if he’d really done it?” Fíli looked skeptical. “What would you have done if he hadn’t?”

Bella tapped her chin thoughtfully. “If he hadn’t actually done those things and felt the need to lie to me about it, the gold-sickness would probably still be affecting him,” she reasoned. “If, still under its influence, he traveled halfway across Middle Earth to get me, it would mean that his sickness defined me as treasure, and I could look forward to being imprisoned in the treasury for the rest of my life.”

“And you came knowing that?” Skepticism had given way to outright disbelief. 

“It seemed unlikely enough to be worth the risk,” Bella replied with a shrug. “But why do you want to know? You’re not spying for Thorin, are you?”

Fíli shook his head. “No, I… no one knows how to treat Uncle since he recovered. He seems happier, calmer even, but…”

Bella nodded. “You can’t just forget the way he acted before. To be honest, I’m afraid he’s going to relapse, and I can’t be the only one.” Fíli nodded slowly. “But he doesn’t know how to act either. He told me he ran after me because he was angry at me, but I don’t think that’s true. He had a long time to reflect, and I doubt there’s anyone as angry at Thorin as Thorin himself. How does he treat the people who saw him at his lowest?”

Bella paused, remembering Thorin greeting his nephews. The expression on Fíli’s face told her he was remembering the same thing. “Well, enough of that,” Bella decided. “How did you and Kíli keep his leaving a secret for two whole weeks?”

Fíli shifted uncomfortably, his lip twisting in embarrassment. “We told everyone that so many people coming and going was affecting Uncle’s recovery. We brought all of his meals, dismissed the healers, locked the doors, and rubbed dirt into his spare clothes so that there would be laundry.”

“And what spoiled this rather elaborate ruse?” Bella prompted, swinging her legs back over the battlements so that she could stand.

“Dain,” Fíli muttered. “He said, as a cousin, he couldn’t be denied seeing Uncle for so long, and pushed past us. Nevermind that Dwalin and Balin are also cousins and they were never that pushy.”

“I’m actually surprised it wasn’t one of them,” Bella admitted, glancing at Dwalin, who shrugged unhelpfully. “What happened when he saw that Thorin wasn’t there?”

“Uncle gave us a letter to show when we were discovered, where he explained where he was going and why, and also named me Regent in his absence,” Fíli explained wryly.

“Very thorough,” Bella noted. “Did Dain dispute its authenticity?”

“Loudly,” Dwalin confirmed, grinning ferally.

“Balin told him he had witnessed Uncle writing the letter himself, which he had not, but that was the end of that,” Fíli concluded.

“Hmm.” Bella was not sure she believed that. There was obviously still tension and hostility between the company and the dwarves of the Iron Hills, but perhaps that was to be expected. Hopefully the arrival of the Blue Mountain dwarves would ease tensions, as they had very good reason to be loyal to Thorin. In the meantime, she needed to pay more attention to Dain. 

Bella must have been staring off into the distance and thinking for a long time, because when she turned back to Fíli, he was gone, replaced by a smiling Thorin.

“Fíli tell you where to find me?” She hazarded a guess. Maybe he had been spying for his uncle.

Thorin shook his head. “He was still here when I found you. I thought you might be up here.”

“Dwalin thought you would be angry,” Bella said, a question in her voice.

“But you did it anyway.” He sounded amused. “Why would I be angry? The whole of Erebor is yours to wander now. If I have anything to be angry about, it’s because you lied to me again.”

Bella paled. “So you heard that.”

Thorin nodded, his expression unreadable. “I should have seen it. You would not have thrown it in my face, even in anger, if you had really forgiven me. Why did you come this far, if you did not trust me?” He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t even look angry. He was simply studying her. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Because I wanted to give you the chance to earn my trust again,” she answered simply. “I love you Thorin, and I wasn’t willing to let you go. And I didn’t want to dredge up old arguments when there was nothing you could do about it in Bag End or on the road.”

His expression softened, and he took her hand gently. “I am lucky then, to have given my heart to such a stubborn keeper.”

“And I am lucky that I gave mine to such a fastidious one,” Bella remarked, kissing Thorin’s knuckles. “You don’t have to suffer alone anymore.”

“So I have your trust?” he asked, running his thumb over her knuckles.

“Yes,” she agreed with a nod. “Though if it all gets to be too much, if the call of the gold gets too strong, well… There’s always Bag End.”

Thorin said nothing to this initially, simply smiling. There was a lightness about him that she hadn’t seen since the Shire, as if the simple act of speaking of it lessened his burden. Bella didn’t know why that idea made her so happy in turn. Then, when Dwalin glanced away for a moment, Thorin leaned in to whisper, “Where have they put you?”

Bella blushed, understanding why he didn’t want Dwalin to hear. Evidently the fact that she was in the Queen’s Suite was a secret.

One she was not in the least bit obligated to keep, pretenses of propriety be damned. “The Queen’s Suite, I think,” she whispered back. “There’s a connecting door, but it’s locked.”

The heat from his breath sent shivers running down her spine as he replied, “Don’t let that stop you. We haven’t made up properly yet.”

“The wedding’s tomorrow,” was her half-hearted response, and there was no time for anything else. Balin appeared, claiming they both had wedding clothes-fittings to get to if they were to be dressed for the ceremonies tomorrow. The look he gave them both suggested that they were already breaking some unspoken rule by being seen together, so they went dutifully to their fittings, Bella’s heart sinking when she saw what she was expected to wear.

Still, she submitted meekly to the tender mercies of the dwarven tailor, who somehow had created clothes for her that came pretty close to a perfect fit. When she asked how this could be, no one was able to provide her with a conclusive answer. Bella was forced then to conclude that their source was their king, and that he had done something just a little unscrupulous.

She was so caught up thinking about how the tailor had gotten her measurements, and what lengths Thorin had probably gone to, she didn’t think to complain about the overwrought nature of the outfit, which her simpler tastes would have rejected out of hand. The next stop, oddly enough, was to Dís, who had insisted that she be allowed to do her future sister’s hair for the wedding and coronation. Because Bella’s hair was shorter, thinner, and curlier than the average dwarf’s, this required a trial run. Kíli fluttered about, offering his own suggestions and “help,” until his mother threw the comb at him and ordered him out of the room. 

“I’m sure he just wants to spend time with you,” Bella offered weakly once Kíli was out of the room, well aware that Dís could easily pull out chunks of her hair if agitated.

Dís’s hands remained gentle as she replied. “He would be more usefully engaged with his Uncle, and he knows full well that it would be improper for him to touch your hair.”

“Really?” Bella knew that dwarves considered touching another’s hair to be an intimate gesture, but Kíli was going to be her nephew soon. “That seems like a bit much.”

“You could always change your mind, and choose the nephew over the uncle,” Dís explained wryly. “Until the vows are exchanged, he must keep his hands off.”

Bella reached for Thorin’s bead, rolling it back and forth between her fingers. “I don’t think I’m Kíli’s type.” She said it with a laugh, but Dís’s fingers froze, and it occurred to Bella that maybe no one had mentioned Kíli’s little crush to his mother. And what she had said was just ambiguous enough to incite a mother’s alarm.

“What do you mean?” There was a hard edge to Dís’s voice.

“Er, it is not really my secret to tell,” Bella said as lightly as she could. She knew instantly that this was the wrong answer. It implied there was something to hide.

“Oh, come now namad,” Dís chided with a terrifying sweetness. “Kíli did not confide in you, did he?”

“Well, no, but-” The entire company had found out one way or another, and she was convinced that the only reason Thorin could joke about it now was because of how close he and his nephews had come to death. It had a way of putting things into perspective.

“Then it is not a secret,” Dís interrupted, tugging on a braid a little too hard.

“It is not exactly strange for dwarves to find my kind unattractive,” Bella offered, trying to deflect again, but Dís was not about to be put off.

“You would not be trying so hard to avoid telling me if there were nothing to tell,” Dís replied, a little sing-songy.

Bella knew there was no way out of this one, so she finally gave in. “Kíli seems to have a… fondness for elf-maids. I once observed him being teased because he tried and failed to backtrack after Dwalin caught him winking at one.” Bella said it all as fast as possible, partially hoping that Dís wouldn’t understand her.

Dís arranged the mirrors so that Bella could see all of her new hairstyle. She never would have chosen so many intricate braids for herself, but she was surprised by how much she liked it. Perhaps the fact that all of the braids terminated in beads that matched Thorin’s helped.

“It’s very lovely,” Bella said with a warm smile, turning to face Dís. Dís smiled in response, genuine warmth lighting her features. 

Then her expression became grim. “Good. Now, you must excuse me. I believe I must speak to my sons.” Dís was out of the room in a flash, and the door had barely closed behind her before shouts started echoing against the stone. She definitely caught the words, “carrying on in such an obvious way,” before Dís switched to Khuzdul. Bella excused herself guiltily, offering a silent apology to Kíli for what she had unleashed upon him. She was a little surprised that apparently what angered Dís was Kíli being obvious about it, not his attraction to Elves in general, but Dís was not Thorin. She would care more about her sons behaving with proper princely decorum than about “those blasted tree-shaggers,” as she had too often heard them called.

Balin was waiting in the hallway, looking in the direction that Dís had gone with a pitying expression. 

“Balin, am I going to see Thorin at all today?” Or was the first time a fluke, she left unsaid.

Balin sighed heavily. “No, and it’s for the best,” he said with a look that spoke volumes. “You have responsibilities to learn and he has ones to catch up on, and in any case it would not be proper.”

“Balin-”

“No buts lass, I’m afraid it’s entirely out of the question. Thorin has enough to deal with without fending off accusations of impropriety.” Indeed, he said it with such finality as to leave no room for argument, but that wasn’t going to stop Bella.

“But why would that be a problem? Dwalin kept a sharp eye on us the entire way here. We were entirely respectable.” Perhaps not entirely true in the particulars, but Dwalin had watched them closely. That was certainly true.

“I heard my brother’s report, and it tells a rather different story,” Balin replied with a raised eyebrow. “He is too used to not questioning Thorin’s decisions to be a proper chaperone.”

Bella tried a different tack. “If Thorin has so much to deal with, why are you here, with me, instead of helping him?” Bella asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Balin muttered something in Khuzdul, and then said in Westron, “Keeping an eye on you is helping him. And you will have plenty of time to be a very bored Queen after tomorrow.”

It was very hard to argue with that.

There was food waiting for Bella in her parlor. She barely had time to be disappointed at the thought of eating alone (well, not completely alone. Dwalin had followed her into the parlor, but he had not much improved as an eating companion since invading her home so long ago), when Bifur, Bofur and Bombur joined her suddenly, guaranteeing a cheerful lunch. She expected some awkwardness, but there was none. Bofur, she supposed, had always been more understanding of her motives than the others. Her attempts to converse with Bifur in halting Khuzdul were met with raucous applause (and laughter at her pronunciation, which was admittedly still terrible), and if there had been any awkwardness, this would have re-endeared her to them surer than anything.

It was a very pleasant meal, and afterward she enlisted their help explaining the significance behind some of the carvings and tapestries. They all plead ignorance, but were fairly well-informed, providing decent entertainment and no shortage of cultural information. It wouldn’t do to be ignorant about the culture she was marrying into.

Her lunch companions were dismissed shortly after by Dwalin. Bella hoped it was to give her some peace and quiet (a nap seemed like a good idea right about now), but it was not to be. She was told to change into trousers (well that boded ill) and get Sting, and then Dwalin led her to a shadowy corridor. Waiting for them there were Dori, Nori, and Ori, looking the same as ever.

Ori was the first to move, hugging her with a delighted cry of, “Bella!”

Dori tutted in a good-natured way. “She’s a Highness Ori, none of that casual talk now,” he scolded lightly. Bella rushed to assure them that it wasn’t necessary, relieved that none of them seemed angry at her either. Then Nori detached himself from the shadows and joined them.

“The reunions lovely, but we’ve got a bit of business to take care of,” he reminded them all, though Bella had no idea what that business was.

She glanced at Dwalin, who shrugged. “What manner of business?”

“It’ll be easier if we just show you,” Nori replied with a shrug, and turned off into the corridor, leaving them to follow.

When they had walked for a way, Bella tried to speak, but Nori signaled that they should hide in a small connecting corridor, and put a hand to his lips to suggest silence. Curious beyond all belief, but convinced they were waiting for something, Bella obeyed.

They did not have to wait long. Hushed voices were coming from further down the hall, and she could just barely make out what they were saying.

“Does Dain know what you’re about?” a low voice demanded, nerves dripping from every word.

“Better that he doesn’t,” another voice answered more confidently. “Might make some problems if he were implicated in something happening to Oakenshield, so soon after his return.”

“What about the boys? His nephews are both before Dain in the succession.”

Bella bit back a gasp. Nori had led to her to a meeting of conspirators. Not even a day on the job, and she was being thrust head first into Erebor’s political mess. Well, she wasn’t going to stand back and let them plot against Thorin. And she definitely wasn’t going to wait and see what they had planned for Fíli and Kíli.

She rolled up her sleeves, and stepped out of the corridor before Dwalin could stop her. The conspirators caught sight of her, but evidently decided that a hobbit was of no importance, simply switching to speaking in khuzdul. Bella tripped, and they snickered, but did not move towards her. Ori made a distressed sound, and ran out of the shadows to help her up.

“Are you hurt, your Highness?” He asked, helping to her feet. The conspirators stiffened immediately.

“I’m a Highness now?” Bella asked innocently, hoping the title would scare the conspirators instead of inspiring them to draw weapons.

“And tomorrow you will be a Majesty,” Dwalin confirmed, the corners of his lips twitching in what Bella guess was the beginnings of a wicked grin as he appeared with Dori and Nori.

The conspirators were gone before she even turned around, and Dwalin roared with laughter. “That’ll teach the scum,” he said grimly when his laughter died. “If you brought this to Dain, he would be honor-bound to execute them, and they know that.”

“I confess I had no idea when I stepped into their line of sight,” Bella admitted, dusting herself off. “I just wanted to scare them a little. How did you know they were going to be here?” she asked, turning her attention to Nori.

“Nothing happens in Erebor that I don’t know about,” the thief answered confidently.

“We thought you should know what kind of rogues are plotting to steal your kingdom,” Dori supplied with a satisfied nod. “We can’t have you going in unprepared.”

“Though you weren’t supposed to run out where they could see you,” Ori observed mournfully. “What if they try to hurt Bella?”

“Weaklings from the Iron Hills like that?” Dwalin spat on the floor. “They can try.”

“Yes well, I’m very appreciative of course, but are all of the Iron Hill dwarves plotting against Thorin?” They couldn’t be, or they’d be running the mountain. But Nori had found conspirators so easily...

“Dain isn’t,” Nori supplied. “Thorin’s his cousin, and plotting against blood isn’t something he would do.”

“He objected to Fíli because of his youth,” Dori agreed. “Any dwarf truly loyal to Dain is loyal to Thorin as well. But plots against the throne are a problem in any kingdom, even more stable ones.”

Bella accepted this without comment, running a hand through her now-dusty hair. Some of these corridors really needed a good cleaning. Dori was immediately fussing over her.

“Oh! The poor child’s hardly had a chance to rest, I can tell! Get her back to her rooms, the poor girl needs a bath and a nap,” he said to Dwalin, examining her tousled hair with a critical eye.

She nearly collapsed when they made it back to her rooms. It seemed like there were no further demands on her time for a while, though. Which was a very comforting thought, she decided as she settled into a hot bath, putting her now copious hair beads into a conveniently provided box. She did not particularly like being surrounded by stone, but it was quiet. She wondered if the thick stone walls meant the rooms were soundproof.

Bella blushed hotly at the implication of that thought, sinking further down into the bath. She could almost feel Thorin’s heated gaze on her naked body, and the knowledge that soon, the doors would unlock and the chaperones would disappear only made her warmer. She’d had a few dalliances back in the Shire, the most recent one more than a decade ago (closer to two decades if she was being completely honest), but even in the flush of youth and hormones, no one had ever looked at her the way Thorin did.

The first time they kissed, it had been in Lake Town, the entire company huddling for warmth in Bard’s house, uncomfortable in their wet skin and borrowed clothes. With the last push toward the Mountain approaching, he had taken her aside and said that none would blame her if she refused to face the dragon. That she could still turn back, despite the contract she had signed and the promises she had made. Unwilling to listen much longer to Thorin going on in this absurd way, she had grabbed the braids that framed his face and kissed him soundly, silencing his objections utterly. It had been foolish, impulsive, reckless, dare she say Tookish even, and Thorin had never given any indication-

Well, she had been wrong, and that was all. He had crushed her against the wall, kissing her so roughly that his beard had left scratches around her mouth, and completely forgetting that they were not alone. None of that had mattered to Bella in the moment. Her entire body felt as if it were consumed by fire, and she had wondered if perhaps her body had been made to be caressed by the rough hands of a Dwarf, instead of the small, soft hands of another Hobbit. The soft moan that had come, unbidden, from the back of her throat had elicited a pleased, deep-throated growl from Thorin.

And then Balin had cleared his throat loudly and their moment had ended abruptly. Balin had then taken Bella aside to explain that while he did not know how things were done with Hobbits, at his time of life Thorin was not likely to just be playing around, and in that case, initiating physical contact of that kind was not entirely proper.

And so the engagement that followed had been based on mutual respect and affection that had gone unacknowledged until the physical attraction had been too much to bear. Balin told her it was often that way with Dwarves: the fires of Mahal’s forge still burned within their souls, and while a sense of duty had restrained Thorin, once he knew that his feelings were returned, all of the carefully maintained barriers he had built between them had burned away instantly.

The physical barriers, like the door and walls that currently separated them, would not fall so easily. Bella dug through her mother’s chest, looking for her lock picks. Nightfall was still hours away, but she was not at Nori’s level when it came to picking locks. Might as well take an early look.

Dwarven locks, as it turned out, were a bit more challenging than the ones she was used to. In the end, dinner arrived before she had defeated it, and with dinner came Dís, so she retired, hiding her lock picks under the covers.

Dís did not want to speak about Kíli’s unfortunate attraction to Elves, or how obvious he made that attraction to anyone who had eyes. Rather, she informed Bella that it was tradition for the bride and groom to meet with their partner’s family and ask each other questions. Thorin had already performed this duty in the Shire when Bella’s aunts had interrogated him, so now it was Bella’s turn. When she hesitated, Dís laughed.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she assured Bella. “Our time together on the road was more than enough to convince me that my brother has chosen well, for once in his miserable life. I feel no need to interrogate you further. Unless you have questions for me, let us simply enjoy the evening. The last night before Thorin can kick me out, claiming that he wants to “spend time” with you.” Dís wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, her facial similarity to Thorin causing Bella no small amount of discomfort.

“I do have a question, actually,” Bella realized, the impressive spread of food temporarily forgotten. “How do your people feel about Thorin marrying me?”

Dís instantly became more serious. “Always asking the hard questions,” she muttered. “They are a little split, when it comes to you,” she admitted, swirling her wineglass absently. “They say you stole the Arkenstone out from under Thorin, but if you had not done it, there would have been no agreement between the Elves, Men, and Dwarves. They also say you have saved his life more than once. They say that love has made Thorin softer, but I do not think that’s a bad thing. My brother was always too hard.”

“So, they do not yet know what to think of me,” Bella surmised.

“They do not,” she agreed with a nod. “But, no one who has seen the two of you together can doubt the sincerity and depth of your affection. And no one who knows anything of hobbits can believe that you have any interest in the throne. So I believe you will make them love you, in time.”

Bella did not know what to say to that, and was spared the trouble by a sudden knock on the door. Realizing that they were her rooms, so she decided who could and could not enter, Bella called, “who is it?”

“One who might call himself a friend, if you will allow it.”

Gandalf. Bella turned to Dís. “You wouldn’t mind terribly if I had a word with him, would you?”

If Dís found this request odd, she didn’t show it. “Not at all.”

Bella flung open the door without delay, hugging the wizard fiercely. “There is something I need to tell you,” she admitted quietly, to avoid attracting the attention of her sister-in-law.

“Yes, I have only just arrived, but Thorin sent me to you directly, saying it was a matter of urgent business.” Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows in no small amount of confusion. “Whatever could the matter be?”

“It will be easier if I show you,” she admitted, directing Gandalf into her little study, then dashing off to the bedroom to retrieve her Ring. She was in such haste, that when she crossed the threshold back into the study, she tripped, and the Ring flew out of her hand, rolling across the stone floor into the open fireplace grate. The fear that gripped her seeing the Ring possibly in harms way nearly paralyzed her lungs, but all that happened was that words appeared around the band.

“Where did you find this?” Gandalf asked, the worry in his voice startling Bella.

“In the goblin tunnels. It belonged to a strange creature, a cannibal, no more than skin and bones.” She related this all breathlessly as Gandalf took the tongs and drew the Ring out of the fire and onto her desk.

“What happens, if you put it on?” Gandalf was becoming graver by the second.

“I become invisible. It is how I escaped from the goblins,” she admitted. “Do you know anything about this ring?”

“I may. I cannot say for certain. There is research to be done before I can give you any firm answer,” Gandalf hedged cryptically. “For now, keep it out of sight, and do not use it under any circumstances.”

Bella nodded, eager to pack the Ring away again. Something about it made her very uncomfortable. “Thank you, Gandalf,” she said with visible relief, and he clapped a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“You did well, bringing this to my attention. You need think no more of it for now. You’re getting married tomorrow! That is the more pressing concern.”

Between Gandalf and her increasingly drunk sister-in-law, the Ring was soon forgotten, and would remain so for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Namad - sister


	12. At Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't perfect, but it was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we find ourselves at the end. But then again not really. >.> After your wonderful responses, I've started the planning process for a sequel, because I hate loose ends (and the Ring is a huge loose end). In the meantime, I've been churning out oneshots while writing this (and if you're dissatisfied with the smut level in this fic I encourage you to check one in particular out). Thank you for your support! And thanks as always to Niffstral, who said this chapter was cute so I hope ya'll enjoy.

It was late when Dís was finally escorted back to her own rooms by Dwalin, and Gandalf left with her, somehow still thoroughly sober. Though Bella’s own veins were singing from drinking a little more wine than she had intended, Dís had thoroughly demonstrated the dwarven fondness for drink. Bella could only hope that dwarves did not get hangovers, or tomorrow morning would be… an experience.

Talking and drinking with Dís had not made her forget her purpose, though. Thorin had not held her since Rivendell. Since their fight. It felt ill-favored to get married with that being the last time they had been intimate. It was a Hobbit superstition.

Or at least that was what she intended to say if they were caught.

In retrospect, it was impressive that she managed to pick the lock while tipsy, when she had failed sober. Still, the lock came undone with a satisfying click, and the door swung open, revealing a short passageway that led to another door. Bella heard cursing and grunting on the other side, suggesting that Thorin had not yet defeated his lock. Actually, she wasn’t even sure he could pick locks, but she could offer no help. The doors only locked on one side, and she was on the wrong side.

“Thorin?” she called tentatively.

“Almost done,” he replied, his voice muffled by the door. “Just one more- ah, got it.” There was no click like there had been on her side, but Bella tried the knob anyway. It fell away in her hand, but the door did open, revealing a kneeling Thorin, holding a pocket knife.

“Did you have to disassemble the lock?” Bella asked in curious disbelief. “With a pocket knife?” The waste of it all. Someone would have to fix that, and it probably wouldn’t be Thorin.

“I am a craftsman, not a burglar,” he replied, amusement lighting his features. “I cannot pick locks, and this one committed a mortal crime.”

“And what crime was that?” Bella asked tartly, stepping over the wreckage of the lock to enter the room. She flexed her toes unconsciously as she crossed the threshold, the fur rugs much warmer than the cold stone of the connecting passageway. Thorin’s room was decorated much like hers, the walls covered in carvings and tapestries, though Thorin’s room did not have windows. They had definitely been put in just for her, and the thought warmed her heart a little. They could not have been too angry if they installed comforts for her.

Bella’s observations and musings were arrested as Thorin’s arms came around her, pressing her back into his chest. “It kept me from you,” he replied, his voice low and rough and right next to her ear.

“Surely upholding propriety is not a crime,” Bella teased, leaning into his hold.

“If that was really the goal, they would have installed a better lock, or put you farther away, under heavier guard,” Thorin said, a smile in his voice. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her belly, sending sparks through her nerves. “And they know my burglar can pick a lock or two, if the situation requires it. No, it was just the appearance of propriety they were upholding.”

“Which means… we don’t have to feel guilty?” Bella reasoned, turning in Thorin’s arms so that she was facing him, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Exactly,” he practically purred, leaning in to kiss her. There was nothing slow or gentle about this kiss. The road between Rivendell and Erebor had been long and utterly without privacy, not to mention consumed by the disagreement over the Ring. All of that anger had been resolved, leaving only the mutual frustrated desire behind. They had been through so much, and now they were here, in Thorin’s reclaimed kingdom, finally able to do as they pleased.

Their lips were swollen, and their breathing heavy when Thorin finally pulled back, his pupils dilated with lust. He was trying to keep himself under control, Bella realized. Well that simply would not do. She grabbed the braids that framed his face, and pulled him right back down, using his surprised gasp to slip her tongue into his mouth. She felt a change immediately. Thorin’s hands on her waist slid down slightly to her hips, tightening their grip and pressing her against him harder. She could taste (and feel) his arousal, but they stayed like that for a time, kissing feverishly and savoring the feel of the other’s body against theirs.

But it wasn’t enough, and Bella wondered why, unlike the earlier times, Thorin wasn’t taking the initiative to move things further. Then again, there was nothing stopping her from doing it herself, so Bella released his neck and moved her hands down to the hemline of his tunic, tugging at it until he submitted and let her remove it. She ran her fingers through his thick chest hair, enjoying the feel of the firm muscles beneath, until she realized that Thorin was simply standing there, watching her with an amused expression.

“What?” she asked, her cheeks tinged with pink.

“I just didn’t expect you to enjoy it so much,” he admitted. “I expected the opposite, actually.”

“Have you seen my feet lately?” Bella demanded with a raised eyebrow. “Your hair is lovely, wherever it grows. By comparison, I must be rather strange to you.”

“Strange, yes,” Thorin agreed, leaning over Bella’s head so that he could see what he was doing as he undid the buttons on her dress. “But not because your hair grows in so thin and light.” He kissed the tip of her delicately pointed ear gently. “You are strange because after all that has passed, you choose to be here, instead of in Bag End, in your feather bed. I cannot understand it.”

Bella laughed, letting him pull off her dress. “Adventure is in my blood, after all.” She reached up to tug lightly on his ear when their lips met again, a small bit of revenge for the attention he paid hers, and was surprised when he suddenly stiffened and bit her lip lightly, a choked sound coming from the back of his throat. Well well well. She traced a finger along the shell of his ear, and a few gasping breaths were her reward.

“Are your ears sensitive?” she asked innocently. “I never would have guessed.”

He responded by pressing his thumb against the skin right above her bottom with a growl, rubbing it in a way that made her knees weak. It became almost a game between them, searching for the spots that made the other cry out, because how could they go to the marriage bed without such pertinent knowledge? It simply wouldn’t be proper.

They soon found their way to the bed, Thorin’s trousers and their undergarments vanishing along the way. Feeling bold, Bella took advantage of Thorin crawling on top of her to run her hands down his back, squeezing the firm muscle of his bottom. He took it as an invitation to begin exploring her much softer curves with his mouth and fingers, slowly slipping downward until the tips of her fingers could only reach the top of his head as he licked and sucked on her thighs. The warmth pooling in her belly was nearly unbearable, so she fisted her hands in his hair and not so subtly bucked her hips, suggesting he put his mouth somewhere else. She could feel him smirking into her thighs.

“So impatient, mizimel,” he teased, cutting Bella’s protest off with a swipe of his tongue on her most sensitive spot. Her hips bucked again, this time involuntarily, and she bit back a moan. Thorin, clearly unsatisfied with this reaction, began his assault in earnest, eliciting choked moans that Bella tried to stifle with her hands, because as it turned out, stone echoed. Her fingernails scraped across his scalp, pulling on his hair a little harder than she intended, but Thorin’s pleased groan against her drove all such concerns from her mind. His eyes danced mischievously, and when her legs stopped feeling like jelly in the wake of her release, Bella swore to get just a little bit of revenge.

Thorin was still remarkably hard, she observed with satisfaction as he crawled back up beside her, and she took the opportunity to shove him onto his back, his long hair a dark curtain beneath him. He watched her curiously, waiting to see what she would do. The groan that rumbled out of his chest when her mouth followed her hand onto his shaft was thoroughly satisfying. She was a little out of practice (okay, very out of practice), but in Thorin’s current state it hardly mattered.

“I should have expected you to be good at that,” he panted, brushing back Bella’s hair so that he could see her better. “Given the way you inhale food and drink.”

She snorted.

It might be a long time before she saw the relaxed Thorin who had sat barefoot outside Bag End again, but seeing her proud king pant and bite back moans was consolation enough. For now.

It was a little disappointing to wake up in her own bed, wondering not for the first or last time how she had gotten there, but knowing because Dís was shaking her awake without any shouting or smirking that it was indeed her bed and not Thorin’s. The exhaustion in Dís’s face suggested that dwarves did indeed get hangovers, so Bella submitted to her tender mercies meekly, pursing her lips at the thumping and shouting coming from the next room.

“Who’s helping Thorin?” she asked as Dís combed her hair gently while she bit into an apple.

“My sons,” Dís told her wryly. “It should probably be Dwalin or Balin, but they were so insistent that they get to do something.” Bella could only hope her groom would be presentable at what would probably be a very public ceremony.

She went over the schedule for the day in her head. First was the wedding, complete with a feast and some off-color stories about the bride and groom. Then the coronation would follow, and her circlet was currently being modified for that ceremony. Balin had taken one look at it and tutted, saying that it at least needed another jewel or something, and she had given her grudging permission to have it “fixed.” Her head could probably support the weight of one more jewel, though she would have preferred they left it alone. 

She had some doubts she was even going to make it that far though, as Dís proceeded to weigh her down with silver and jewels, and that was in addition to the already heavy dress, with its train and wide sleeves. Normally she would have objected to the unnecessary adornment; it was too much, and she wouldn’t be able to move. But, just as Thorin had commanded back in Bag End, there was no gold, and the lump in her throat prevented her from saying anything. How it must pain him, to feel that he could not cover her in gold as he had sworn he would, without fearing the madness rearing up again. Not that she would have consented to it, but the fact that he didn’t even try was telling.

She could endure a day of feeling like she was about to fall over. Thorin probably felt that way everyday, and she was determined to share the load. She had forgiven him his weakness, and he had forgiven hers. Today at least, she could indulge him a little.

The finishing touch on her wedding ensemble was a crown of Belladonna flowers, demonstrating the dwarven carelessness toward plants. They were poisonous, for goodness sake! They were not called deadly nightshade as some kind of joke. But she allowed them to be woven into her hair, knowing that they had been an attempt to respect the traditions of her people.

Dís led her outside the gates, which was a bit of an arduous journey under the circumstances. They passed no one as they went, which seemed odd until they stepped into the cold sunshine, and she realized that all of Erebor was emptied, and arrayed in their finery, alongside the dwarves of Ered Luin who must have arrived in the night. Behind them, the Elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell kept a… respectful distance from the dwarves, looking coolly (in Thranduil’s case) or with light amusement (in Elrond’s case) at the proceedings. The Men of Dale and Lake Town served as a buffer between the groups, Bard looking about ready to start firing arrows into whichever side tried his patience next.

Even from her current distance, she could see Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin on the wedding platform, and she thought she detected the other members of the company near the front. Judging by their relaxed posture, they were probably the only people really enjoying this, she reflected, rolling her eyes.

Fíli and Kíli were waiting to take her from their mother, which she thought was rather sweet. She had expected to walk down the aisle alone, though she supposed showing that the heirs accepted their uncle’s bride was probably an important political gesture. The way they both leaned in to whisper, “Thanks for not telling amad about Tauriel,” suggested they really weren’t thinking about politics. She noted also that neither of them wore any gold jewelry.

“Was everything okay?” she whispered back, looking back and forth between the two of them as they walked and a hush fell over the crowd.

“More or less,” Fíli supplied unhelpfully.

“She didn’t break anything,” Kíli agreed with a nod.

And that would have to do, she supposed, because Thorin was looking at her the same way he had when she’d appeared with the keys in Mirkwood, the same way as when she’d solved the riddle of the hidden door, the way that said that he thought she was the key to everything, the one with all the answers. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, not when he looked at her like that.

Thorin was attired as he clearly preferred, in rich royal blue with silver fastenings. Thick silver rings adorned even more of his fingers than usual, and his beard, which had done some growing since their time in the Shire, sported the engagement bead. His long mane was tied back in a loose braid, without any beads in it. As part of the ceremony, they would each braid another bead into the other’s hair. The beads were sitting on a velvet pillow, near the platform, held by a very familiar face.

“Gandalf,” Bella breathed, not actually surprised that he had worked his way into the proceedings. Wizards do as they please she thought as he simply smiled mysteriously at her, and then Fíli and Kíli were handing her off to their Uncle and there was no time to think anymore.

Bella felt as though Thorin’s hands were swallowing hers, and the almost viselike grip certainly didn’t help. She squeezed his hands gently, and he met her eyes with a rueful expression, his grip loosening a little.

She was aware of Balin speaking, but she remembered little of the rites until she was called on to speak her vows. “I, Belladonna Baggins, do swear before Mahal and these witnesses, to imbue Thorin, son of Thrain, with my cleverness, goodness, and diplomacy, and so finish the work begun by Mahal’s hammer,” she repeated after Balin, trembling slightly as she looked up at Thorin and saw the pure, unalloyed joy in his eyes. If she thought the dwarven idea of wedding vows a little strange, she kept it to herself.

“I, Thorin, son of Thrain, do swear before Mahal and these witnesses, to imbue Belladonna Baggins with my decisiveness, confidence, and steadfastness, and so finish the work begun by Yavanna’s spade,” Thorin swore, his voice carrying across the valley in a way that made Bella blush a little.

Then it was time for the beads, which Gandalf presented with a wink. Bella hoped she wouldn’t trip over her tongue; Balin had taught her a phrase in Khuzdul to say after she put Thorin’s bead in, almost like a spell, or a charm. Thorin went first, taking the chunk of curly hair on the other side of her face that had been left free for this purpose with slightly shaky hands.

“Âzyunguh ana zu tursiki uhrus magh Mahalul gabil khubûb,” Thorin said when he was finished, releasing the braid reluctantly.

All Bella had to do was attach the bead to the existing braid, so she finished much quicker for once. “Âzyunguh ana zu ubzûnatiki ubzar magh nâturma ‘azahyi kidhuzaz,” she replied, taking the words slowly and carefully. Thorin seemed pleased, either by the words themselves or by how far her khuzdul was coming, because he did not wait for Balin to prompt them before kissing her soundly to the uproarious cheers of the crowd. When he pulled back, leaving her feeling a little light-headed, he whispered something in her ear. Khuzdul. His secret name. It felt strange that she had nothing to say in return, so she strung something together from the Khuzdul she knew, which earned her another kiss.

Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, as she watched Thorin smile and wave to the crowd. They had both been through a great deal, but Thorin’s pain was incomparable. To be able to bring him this much joy made her smile just as broadly, feeling pleased with everyone and everything (especially the roast boar, Bombur be praised!). 

She had forgotten that the embarrassing stories were yet to come. At least, she reflected afterwards, all the company had on her was all the “will they or won’t they” between her and Thorin on the journey, and then their short, ill-fated initial courtship. Thorin was not so lucky. Between Dwalin, Dís, and his nephews, they had to have enough dirt on him to fill the mountain.

Despite what they had threatened, they didn’t go that route. Another pleasant surprise.

“My brother has given everything to our people since the day the dragon came,” Dís declared proudly. “He built a home for our people in Ered Luin with his own sweat and muscles, and reclaimed our ancient home in the same way. Always my brother has thought of his people and his kingdom first. Now at last he has done something selfish, and do you blame him?”

A raucous ‘no’ came from the crowd.

Dís nodded approvingly. “Exactly. I believe that marrying, taking a Queen Under the Mountain, will make my brother a better king, and so restore Erebor to the glory of old!”

It was difficult to calm the crowd for a while after that. The Elves, Bella noted, seemed a little uncomfortable. Dwarves in the battle rage were dangerous, and getting a crowd too worked up could lead to that, but Dís was the last dwarf who would willingly incite a war. At least the presence of the Elves didn’t seem to be dampening anyone’s spirits.

Dwalin’s speech was very similar to Dís’s, though he focused a bit on Thorin’s glorious deeds, and also the role Bella had played in Thorin’s more recent glorious deeds. “I know to some amongst you, she’s just a melekinh,” Dwalin said. “Some refer to her kind as halflings.” Dwalin certainly had a time or two. “But as our melhekhinh will tell you, she’s not half of anything.” He said this in the same matter-of-fact way he said everything, with the same kind of gruffness usually reserved for reminding people that they were in the presence of a king that Bella’s heart swelled a little.

Through it all, Thorin held her somewhat possessively on his lap, forcing her to eat and otherwise enjoy the feast around him. She tolerated it patiently. For today only. After that, she was going to have to insist on having her own seat. If they needed to build a hobbit-sized throne, then that was going to happen.

A few seats down, once again in Gandalf’s careful hands, the crowns sat on another velvet pillow. It was the first time she could see how her circlet had been modified, and she just about sagged in relief. The only difference was that a strange multicolored stone had been installed right in the center. It reminded her a bit of the Arkenstone, though not nearly as bright. Thorin followed Bella’s gaze.

“It’s an opal,” he told her with a slight smile. “The closest gem to the Arkenstone. I would have cut it up to put in your crown, but it seemed unwise.”

“To announce to the world that I stole it from you?” She twisted her neck to look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“To announce to them that I gave it to you freely,” Thorin replied, pulling her a little closer. “Even after what passed between us, as a symbol of my love.”

There was nothing for it after that, she had to twist around and kiss him, ignoring the enthusiastic hooting this incited in the crowd. She could do little else, basking in the glow of how far they had come, really. That he could even speak of cutting up the Arkenstone said so much. He might keep excesses of gold from his sight, but the Arkenstone at least no longer pained him.

The coronation was a much shorter ceremony than Bella expected. A brief oath was administered to the pair of them, then Gandalf was placing crowns upon their heads. It felt as though it should be more complicated, but Bella supposed that was just her hobbit sensibilities showing.

They turned to face the crowd, Bella letting their excitement buoy her spirits. It felt almost surreal, as though she could not possibly truly be there. No, it must be a dream, inspired by her months of grief, and she was lying in Bag End, crying into her pillow.

Then she looked up at Thorin’s face, all easy smiles and regality, and she knew it was no dream. As she walked amongst the crowd, allowing the company to congratulate her enthusiastically, and receiving the more reserved praise of the Elves, she knew she could do this. She could be Thorin’s Queen. The kingdom of Erebor would need a firm hand in the years of rebuilding to come, and Thorin could provide that, but diplomacy required a more delicate touch. Bella smiled. That, she could do.

It was a bitterly cold winter evening when Bella finally finished writing her book, wrapped up against the cold in little more than her dressing gown. It felt very improper, finishing a courting gift after they were married, but as Thorin hadn’t objected, no one else had the right to. And, if there were still quite a few empty pages in the book, there was no reason she couldn’t keep a record of things to come as well.

“Despite everything, it was a wonderful journey, if it must end so,” she murmured, rubbing her chilled fingers together.

“The journey isn’t over yet,” Thorin replied from the doorway, startling Bella into closing the book. He was watching her in that familiar amused way, though she did wish he could do it with more clothes on. He was standing there stark naked.

“Aren’t you cold?” she demanded incredulously, wrapping her dressing gown around herself more tightly and stepping away from her desk to join him.

“Rarely,” was his infuriating reply as he pressed her to him, his furnace-like body heat obliterating the chill. Bella melted into his hold, not even making a pretense of muttering some complaint or objection. They would be King and Queen again in the morning, but for now they were just Thorin and Bella, savoring their time together. They had faced down trolls and dragons, and somehow they knew that could face whatever other challenges came their way. There was nothing else to be wished for.

More might be said of their future together, what tidings Gandalf brought, how Thorin fared with his gold sickness, how Bella managed negotiations with the Elves, how the kingdom of Erebor flourished; but this is the tale of how a hobbit ran from the shadow of death and found life, and the rest are tales for another occasion. For now, all that remains to be said is that they lived happily ever after, until the end of their days, and while the road was not always smooth, they walked it together.

And, if at the end of another long and difficult journey, they found themselves in Bag End instead of Erebor, well, they needed a holiday. A very long holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I don't necessarily subscribe to the idea that Yavanna created the hobbits, but Balin wrote the whole ceremony and thought it was appropriate. Yes, that's my story.
> 
> Khuzdul Glossary (thanks to tumblr user khuzdul4u for the sentences)  
> amad - mother  
> Âzyunguh ana zu tursiki uhrus magh Mahalul gabil khubûb - My love for you burns hotter than Mahal’s great forges  
> Âzyunguh ana zu ubzûnatiki ubzar magh nâturma ‘azahyi kidhuzaz - My love for you runs deeper than an endless sea of gold  
> melekinh - hobbit-lady  
> melhekhinh - king-lady (the closest word in Khuzdul for queen)


	13. Epilogue: In My Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long roads are best walked with company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet some of you are surprised to see a notification for this one, huh? Well, this is my fifth attempt at a sequel, and ultimately I discovered that it worked much better as an epilogue, rather than as a standalone fic. I tried to sit down and write all the ideas I had for my version of events, and realized that the tone would be so drastically different, that it didn't feel right. So instead, you get the ideas I had, made concise and more light-hearted. I hope that's okay, and I hope you like it (though some of the ideas I came up with are a little silly). (And I hope you're currently following my new chaptered fic, To Find a Long Forgotten World)
> 
> Please note that this epilogue is not beta-read, so there may be mistakes.

Five years after returning to Erebor and marrying its’ king, Belladonna Baggins left it behind again to go on another journey. The Ring must be destroyed she was told, and she couldn’t bring herself to let someone else do it. If that meant sailing into Rhun, where the Men served Sauron, so be it. If that meant climbing once again into barrels and disguising herself and Thorin as supplies from those same Men in order to cross the Ash Mountains undetected, she could and would do it. If that meant walking more than a hundred miles across the ash and dust that was Mordor in order to reach Mt. Doom, which oh so conveniently awakened as the Ring approached, sending out more ash and dust, but also lava which blocked their path, Bella could live with that.

She was hungry, suffering from Ring-induced insomnia, positively covered in volcanic ash, and had to be half-carried by Thorin on some days (but only half!), but she tolerated it. Gandalf had said before they left him behind in the mountains that they had a great deal of luck on their side. Sauron was weakened from his confrontation with the White Council, and had not yet revealed himself. His army was weakened from the Battle of the Five Armies. He did not yet know that the Ring had been found, and thus the Ring itself had not yet awakened. These were all good things he assured her, and would make her journey almost as easy as it could possibly be.

But then again, Gandalf had grossly undersold the danger of the Quest for Erebor, so maybe Bella was done believing him completely.

Still, she was grateful when they finally made it to Mt. Doom, ragged, dusty and footsore, with the Ring tormenting her whether she was asleep or awake, but alive. Sting and Orcrist had only occasionally glowed their entire time in Mordor, and thankfully they had been able to hide on those rare occasions. If she ignored the hunger and lava flows, it had been a much less dangerous venture than Smaug so far.

And then of course, with the Ring hanging over the abyss, doubt had crept into her mind. It was the voice of the Ring, and she knew it, but her hand moved away from the edge on its own.

“Bella, you have to destroy it!” Thorin shouted from some distance away. He was averting his own eyes from the Ring, and it broke Bella’s heart to see. But she wasn’t in control anymore. Here, at the very source of its’ power, how could she resist the Ring?

“I can’t,” she cried, her hands shaking violently. “You have to do it!” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew how impossible that was, and it was clear that Thorin did too, but he came to her side anyway. He wasn’t even sweating, the heat familiar to him, and she cursed him silently for it.

“You know that I can’t,” he said, the pain in his eyes bringing out the lines in his face, making him look his age for once.

“You have to,” she insisted, thrusting the Ring at him. She expected him to take it, because here in the mountain, no one could resist that surely. But Thorin anticipated her, raising his hands so that she thrusted the Ring into empty air, and it fell. Down, down, into the fires of Mt. Doom. And just like that, with very little ceremony, the Ring was destroyed. It would have been anticlimactic if the mountain hadn’t chosen that moment to start blowing itself apart, and only a timely rescue from the eagles kept them from becoming yet another pile of Mordor ash.

It was over then, the Ring destroyed and neither of them that much worse for wear. But they didn’t go back to Erebor.

“The Ring made it clear to me,” Thorin explained during their recovery in Minas Tirith, fiddling with one of his braids. “I never fully recovered from the gold sickness, even after all this time. It was only my absolute revulsion of falling into such a state again that made me refuse to even touch the Ring, and I don’t know if I could do it again.”

“You don’t have to do it again,” Bella reminded him tartly. “The Ring is gone.”

“I am well aware of that,” Thorin replied, matching her tone. “But I knew when I looked at it. I can’t go back.”

“Then what should we do? You didn’t have Fíli crowned behind my back, did you?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“No,” Thorin assured her quickly. “But I can send word for it to be done. And five years ago, on the wall, you said there would always be Bag End, if it became too much. I assumed that you meant it, Ghivashel.”

Bella flushed. “Of course I mean it,” she insisted. “I just never thought… Well, I never thought a lot of things would happen. Hopefully this time they didn’t try to sell my belongings again.”

“You left instructions this time, I thought,” Thorin recalled, taking her hand gently and tracing the lines.

“Yes, but none of it was in writing. As a dwarf, you should know what that means to some people. Hobbits are more respectful of verbal contracts than some, but I should have thought of that before,” she admitted, a little embarrassed.

Bella kissed him to change the subject, and Thorin wisely said nothing, but she knew he expected Bag End to have been stripped bare. Even when Hamfast replied to her letter saying that everything was as she had left it, Thorin didn’t believe it until they were back in the Shire, standing in the doorway.

“I must really have improved Lobelia’s opinion of me,” Bella remarked, enjoying the sight of her well-stocked pantry. “It looks like she didn’t even try to rob me this time.”

“I still don’t understand a society of peaceful, chubby farmers and gentlefolk where upon arriving home, one expresses surprise that their cousins haven’t tried to cheat them,” Thorin observed, shaking his head.

“Hobbits have large families,” Bella reminded him, knowing that dwarves generally did not. “We can afford to be distant to a cousin or five.”

Thorin simply shook his head disapprovingly, and they set about making something to eat. In the course of that day, there were many visitors, far more than Bella had entertained the last time she was in Hobbiton. At some point, everyone had heard that not only had she married her dwarf from five years ago, but he was a king! “Not a King anymore,” she would say so many times that day, but it didn’t matter. Mad Bella Baggins was back, and married to a dwarf king. She was strange, that was for certain, but at least she wasn’t single anymore!

They were all lucky Bella had better manners.

It didn’t take long for the children to arrive, demanding the continuation of the story she hadn’t finished, and that at least she could grant more readily. When one of the children, curious about the big hairy dwarf, crawled into Thorin’s lap and he allowed it, Bella’s heart felt full to bursting. He looked peaceful and happy, and she was so glad that she could give that to him.

A full month passed before the first ravens from Erebor arrived, carrying Dís’s anger, and promises from other members of the company to visit before too long. She chastised them for not returning, for not being present for Fíli’s coronation, for springing that coronation on them with no time to prepare… But Bella knew that mostly, she was just angry to receive a raven bearing the news that her brother would not be returning. Knowing Thorin, the message had probably initially convinced her that he was dead, and she let his sister scold him for that.

More time brought the changes of seasons, visitors from Erebor, Lobelia finally appearing to demand proof that Bella hadn’t shamed the family, a simple wedding full of flowers (at Lobelia’s insistence), and finally, Frodo, newly orphaned and needing a stable, loving home. If Bella occasionally had some regrets that she’d never borne children of her own, Frodo silenced those regrets forever, and the sight of Thorin delicately tucking him into bed was something she would remember until the end of her days. That, and smoking her pipe on the bench outside Bag End with Thorin watching the sunset paint Hobbiton in red and purple hues.

The neighbors might stare sometimes, but it didn’t matter. They would get used to it eventually, she told herself, and that was that. She had done a great many things in her time, more than any hobbit in recent memory. She was entitled to a few eccentricities.

And if the Hobbiton ponies were much better shod than they had ever been before, and broken tools replaced with far better ones, well, that might have helped things along.


End file.
